


Respective Counterparts

by Avaxius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Dimensional Travel, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26025826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaxius/pseuds/Avaxius
Summary: When Harry finds himself thrown across the infinite void between worlds, his female best friend — and godfather too — are whisked along for the ride. This is a story where they try to adjust to their new reality, while discovering important facts about themselves along the way.H/Hr, Adventure, Drama and Romance, multi-chapter (WIP) fic. Set in OotP forward; heavily AU after the hop.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Hr/H
Comments: 16
Kudos: 113
Collections: HMS Harmony Discord Writing Fest - Jily Meets Harmony Challenge





	1. Trapped Like Rats

**Author's Note:**

> Did I single-handedly become the world's first billionaire author, after being rejected by twelve individual publishing companies? If not, I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I make any money whatsoever from this story. Any OC’s in this tale are mine, though.
> 
>   
> Alrighty guys, here you are — my first attempt at a multi-chapter H/Hr story. I wrote this for the Jily Meets Harmony challenge proposed by the H.M.S Harmony discord — the link to join the cord will be in the A/N at the end of the chapter. 
> 
> I took heavy inspiration from JKR’s Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix book for the scenes before the dimensional hop. Just wanted to point that out for those of you who didn’t notice.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this tale; feel free to leave a review if you did! 
> 
> Right, enough of my ramblings. On with the story!

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**Somewhere in the Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, 18/06/1996…** _

It had been a trap.

The all-too-real vision — of his godfather, Sirius, being tortured at the hands of Voldemort — had merely been a well-executed illusion; a mental farce, specifically designed to lure Harry into its unyielding grasp and snare him tightly.

Harry, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to _not_ listen to his best friend's ardent suggestions and protestations of _just_ _pause for a few minutes and_ think, _Harry! Consider the truth of what you see — couldn't it just be one of Voldemort's_ tricks?

He had, instead, dismissed her concerns; recklessly rushing to the Ministry of Magic with frantic thoughts of his godfather's safety running rampant through his mind.

And, of course, Hermione being…well, _Hermione,_ had followed behind him — all the way from Hogwarts and into the Hall of Prophecies, deep in the Department of Mysteries' depths — without a single whit of hesitation, despite her _knowing for a fact_ that doing so would greatly reduce her chances of seeing the sunrise the next morning.

His friends, his _infuriatingly_ stubborn, yet still very dear friends, had fearlessly accompanied Hermione, and had consequently been caught in the trap as well.

The young wizard cursed violently under his breath, thinking guiltily that he _should_ have listened to his best friend's wise words — after all, when had she led him wrong before?

Voldemort's sly ploy had succeeded — Harry, selflessly barrelling into the Department of Mysteries with the chivalrous intentions of rescuing his godfather, had walked right into the hands of Voldemort's goons like an oblivious mouse crawling towards the cheese on an old-fashioned mousetrap.

Because of his arrogance, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny and Luna — who had all vehemently refused to remain at Hogwarts — now faced near-certain death, vainly fleeing for their lives within the bowels of the Department of Mysteries.

Their footsteps pounding heavily on the pitch-black floor beneath them, the little ragtag group of Gryffindor fifth years sprinted through the aisles of the Hall of Prophecies; the henchmen and followers of the Dark Lord furiously chasing after them and the small crystal ball full of a misty-white, cloudy substance safely tucked in one of Harry's many pockets.

It seemed inevitable that the Death Eaters would eventually catch up to them, rip the little prophecy from his limp body and deliver it to the worst dark wizard of modern times; all while laughing hysterically as spells promising unimaginable pain flowed freely from their wands—

Harry shook his head sharply, snapping himself back into the present.

Now was not the time for such thoughts.

The hairs prickled on the back of his neck and Harry instantly reacted; a _Protego_ snapping into existence behind the fleeing group. The bright orange spell — what he _thought_ was a Piercing Hex, but was probably something much, _much_ worse — splashed harmlessly against it.

However, the messy-haired teen could _feel_ the drain such a large shield imparted on his magical reserves.

"We need to split up!" he shouted, quickly checking that the prophecy was still safe and intact.

" _Ickle baby Potty!"_ a haunting voice sing-songed; madness and the slightest hints of frustration toning it. " _Wherever might you be? You can't hide from me!"_

Harry tried his hardest to ignore it, gritting his teeth; his mind blank but for the feeling of adrenaline flowing through his system and the persistent thought of _left foot, right foot, left fo—_ DUCK! _Continue; left foot, right foot_ pounding in his mind.

Hermione hastily shot off a spell – " _Reducto!" —_ into an aisle on their left. The Death Eater, who had been stealthily trying to cut them off, was forced to do that smoke transformation _thing_ and disappeared into the gloomy space above the towering stacks.

"Okay, mate — how are we doing this?!" Ron bellowed back, his long, lanky legs letting him easily keep pace with the rest of the group.

Noticing an intersection coming up rather quickly, Harry made a split-second decision.

"Ron, you'll go with Luna; Neville, you'll go with Ginny. You're with me, Hermione. Once we get to that intersection, separate and meet up in that room of rotating doors in about twenty minutes!"

His friends nodding their assent, the young wizards and witches pressed on to the junction, the sounds of powerful enchantments whining against the onslaught of misaimed spellfire echoing in their ears.

Upon reaching the intersection, Harry seized Hermione's hand and yanked her towards him, bolting down the left-most passage. A brief glance over his shoulder revealed the retreating forms of his other friends, each going down their respective paths and soon disappearing out of sight.

Harry turned to his left to check on his best friend, intending to enquire if she was okay.

But he stopped, his mouth freezing in its open position.

 _Something_ felt off; as if there was some part of his sensory system failing to register any information—

Then, he noticed it.

The noise.

Or, rather, the _absence_ of noise.

The Hall of Prophecies had suddenly dropped to complete silence; only the rapid _slap slap slap_ of the two Gryffindors' shoes upon the dark smooth tiles and their heavy breathing permeating the all-encompassing quiet.

As one, Harry and Hermione slowed their pace down until they came to a complete stop, listening carefully for any hint of their pursuers.

"Hermione?" whispered Harry, glancing around nervously with his wand clenched in his grip. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good," she replied in an equally quiet voice. Her brown eyes trailed over the seemingly endless shelves, filled to the brim with crystal balls — most a cloudy white; some completely black. "Where did all the Death Eaters go?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Perhaps _his_ goons chased after the others…"

She nodded in response, keeping her senses primed for any hint of Voldemort's followers.

The duo continued walking for about five minutes in the eerie, deathly quiet stillness of the Hall of Prophecies; their eyes darting around furtively and their hearts pounding a staccato rhythm in their chests.

Spotting a doorway in the far distance, Harry nudged Hermione with his shoulder and silently nodded towards it.

She tipped her head in a sharp nod and the two swiftly proceeded towards it; neither Gryffindor noticing that they still retained an equally tight grip on the other's hand.

"Stop right there, Potter," a smooth, silky voice purred from directly in front of them. The slightest silhouettes of pure darkness shifted at the edges of their vision.

Harry and Hermione both froze, horror etched into every cell of their bodies.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**The Hall of Prophecy, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, 18/06/1996…** _

"While a little exercise for the body is always favourable, the time for games is now up. You _will_ give me the prophecy, and no one shall be hurt."

Multiple figures, dressed in robes of the deepest black, emerged from the shadows of their gloomy surroundings. Each had their face hidden by a silver mask, shaped into a bone-white skull, and had taken up positions around the pair of young students, boxing them in from all angles.

Harry quickly rotated in a complete circle, trying to discover the amount of Death Eaters who had surrounded him and his best friend.

He counted no less than _eight_.

The figure on his nine 'o'clock stepped forward, its face mask dissipating like smoke in the wind at the slightest touch of its wand, and the aristocratic features of Lucius Malfoy were revealed to the world.

He held out his hand, transferring the ornate cane in its grip to his other. "The prophecy, Potter. Give it to me."

Harry raised his chin defiantly. "And if I don't want to give it to Moldyshort's _goons?"_

The shadowy figures swelled up in righteous indignation, the more wand-happy among them going for their magical weapons to punish the Gryffindor for his impertinence.

One in particular threateningly stepped forward; the outline of the robes allowing Harry to guess that it was a female hidden within.

The high, incoherent screech of rage that emanated from therein confirmed that the figure was, indeed, a witch.

"How _dare_ you disrespect the Dark Lord!" the figure screamed angrily.

Her hood fell back, the skull-shaped mask promptly disappearing; revealing the almost elegant features of one Bellatrix Lestrange. They would probably have been attractive; had they not been warped by fourteen unforgiving years spent in Azkaban and twisted with unimaginable fury.

She bared her teeth, reminiscent of a rabid dog. "You will _suffer_ for your insolence, stupid boy! _Cruci—"_

Malfoy suddenly seized her arm, wrenching her wand to point at the ceiling. The sickly red, half-completed Unforgiveable harmlessly travelled into the impenetrable gloom above them.

" _No,_ Bellatrix! The Dark Lord specifically ordered that they shall not be put in their rightful place until the Prophecy is secure," he hissed, staring balefully at the crazed woman.

Bellatrix glared right back, baring her teeth at him too. She ripped her arm out of his grasp with a disgusted sniff.

"What, so ol' Tommy boy said you can't hurt the _ickle Gryffindors?_ Oh, what a shame," Harry taunted. It probably wasn't conducive to his and Hermione's continued good health, but he just _couldn't_ resist.

The female Lestrange screeched again, fighting against Malfoy to get to the Boy-Who-Lived. A snap of his fingers resulted in two other robed figures grabbing hold of the woman and attempting to restrain her.

He turned back to the two Gryffindors, visibly holding himself back from attacking them too.

"Alright, then. Potter," the man spat, fixing his harsh, cruel gaze upon the two teenagers. Hermione whimpered slightly in response, burying her head in Harry's back. "Hand it over. _Now._ This is your last chance, before I'll forcefully take it from you."

Silence fell upon the group, the tension thick enough that one could cut it with a butter knife. Harry's eyes darted around, his mind trying and failing to come up with a viable escape method.

Luckily, Hermione had not been coined the Brightest-Witch-Of-Her-Age for nothing.

"Harry, I've got a plan," she murmured, keeping her voice so low that Harry very nearly couldn't make out what she was saying. Her warm breath tickled the skin of his neck, and he tried to prevent the relief from showing on his face, playing up the act of hesitating on his decision. "In about five seconds, I'm going to make a distraction. _Run like hell_ when it happens. Okay? Shrug if you got it."

The Boy-Who-Lived shrugged his shoulders, giving the Death Eaters the impression that he had finally given up. Malfoy took another step forward, smug triumph plastered upon his face.

"Wait," Harry said suddenly, furrowing his brows. He _had_ to buy Hermione enough time to enact her distraction. "How do I know that you won't hurt us?"

Malfoy shrugged elegantly, extending his hand further. "You and your… _friends_ won't be injured. Too badly."

"Well, I can't accept that," he replied, feeling Hermione's arm, wrapped around his waist, briefly tighten. The distraction was ready. "There's no guarantee in that statement that we won't be har—"

A loud groaning reverberated through the Hall of Prophecies, accompanied by what sounded like the snapping of wood. The Death Eaters fearfully glanced around them, wondering what could be causing the sound.

And then the twenty-level-high shelf to Harry's left _collapsed,_ the midpoint of the shelf folding to the floor like a structurally weak bridge finally giving up its fight against gravity and snapping in two.

Malfoy's eyes had widened the second the first prophecies started to fall out of their nests, but Hermione had already raised her wand. " _Reducto maxima!"_

The curse sailed into the crumpling stack and promptly disintegrated the metal and wood that came into contact with it. Hermione darted through the smoke, dragging her best friend along with her; a hastily cast _Protego_ protecting them from the falling shrapnel.

Harry threw two Bludgeoning charms in quick succession back through the gap, hearing one hit a Death Eater while the other crackled against a magical shield. Then the rack of prophecies collapsed further, sealing off the breach completely.

The teenagers bolted down the clear aisle as if the very bats of hell were right on their heels. The young witch jerked her wand at the still-collapsing rack on their right, an incantation flowing from her lips, and the high shelving suddenly began to tip to the side.

It smashed into the prophecy rack on its other side, which then impacted _another,_ creating a cascading domino effect of epic proportions. Bellatrix's shriek of frustration was buried under the deafening crash of the metal-and-wood structures colliding together.

Harry felt a relieved smile worm its way onto his face.

"Brilliant, Hermione! Nice quick thinking," he shouted admiringly, giddy adrenaline coursing through his system. The two Gryffindors sprinted for the plain, black door, which would hopefully lead to their salvation. "How'd you do that?"

A deep shade of red appeared on Hermione's flushed cheeks. "Over…overpowered Rot…God, I'm so tired! It was a Rotting Charm, Harry."

They reached the door in no time at all. Even though he was undoubtedly scared _shitless_ at the fact that blood-thirsty Death Eaters were less than fifty metres away from them, again, Harry just _couldn't_ help himself.

"Dear Merlin, I'd never thought I would see the day that _the_ Hermione Granger _purposefully_ and _intentionally_ destroyed countless centuries' worth of knowledge," Harry commented, an amazed tone in his voice.

He easily avoided the half-hearted swipe the witch made at his person.

"Whatever will come next? Flying pigs?"

An _Alohomora_ resulted in the plain black door clicking open; the two best friends slipping through the small opening before locking the entrance shut with multiple Locking Charms.

"Well, Harry," began Hermione breathlessly, rummaging around in a small pouch at her waist. Harry placed his hands on his knees, taking in great lungfuls of air.

"If you take a look at Cashinhalter's latest paper in _Transfiguration Today,_ you'd find that he and his Muggleborn wife somehow managed to make a hippopotamus spout wings and decide to take flight. And as hippopotami are classified in the same order as pigs — _Artiodactyla_ , if you were wondering — _technically,_ your favourite sources of pork _can_ fly. If you tilt your head to the side and squint _really carefully,_ that is."

She slipped her arm into the bag all the way until her elbow was above the seam — a fact which resulted in Harry wondering when on Earth she had learnt to perform Space Expansion charms — and eventually retrieved two vials of a maroon red liquid from its depths. She ripped the corks out of both with her teeth and offered a flask to her best friend, downing the content of hers with a slight grimace.

Having identified the liquid as Pepper-Up Potion — the steam comically blasting out of Hermione's ears, causing her hair to frizz up from the humidity and fly every which way had been quite the large clue — Harry swallowed his dose, feeling like he could run a thousand marathons as a rush of energy coursed throughout his system.

"Whoo! That really has a kick to it," Harry said, shaking his head and trying to control the irrepressible urge to start jumping up and down.

Hermione, by comparison, looked to be trying her hardest to avoid performing a gymnastic routine advanced enough to only be seen in the Olympics.

He stared suspiciously at the pouch, and only _now_ registered what she had just said.

"When did you think of making that thing? And deciding to carry it around?" Harry asked incredulously. "And, to be honest, I'm not even _surprised_ that pigs can apparently fly now. Should've known that a Muggleborn wizard or witch would eventually try to make that saying come true."

Hermione shrugged, placing her and Harry's vials back in her bag.

"Somehow, Harry, _something_ occurs which puts your life in danger — _without fail_ for _every year_ that you've been at Hogwarts," she replied. Harry stretched his arms above his head, trying to work out the stiches in his side. "I've taken to carrying an Expanded pouch of supplies that I think we'd need at all times, because I haven't the slightest idea at which point during the schoolyear your fabled bad luck would strike again."

The wizard winced, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "That's probably a good idea."

Hermione nodded righteously, ensuring the bag on her hip was secured.

"Now," he continued, rolling his shoulders and turning to take in the room that they had entered blindly. "Let's get out of her—"

Harry froze again, his arm shooting out to prevent Hermione from moving an _inch._

His best friend's body tensed up; Hermione's eyes snapping away from her pouch to look at him. Upon seeing his expression, which was a mix of horror, fear and — oddly enough — amazement, she chanced taking a glance to her left.

Standing not five inches away from their position was a tank, filled to the brim with some viscous liquid that _glowed_ a murky green in the dim lighting. Suspended within the liquid was a formless blob of _something,_ which wriggled and writhed about to some unknown rhythm.

The container was cylindrical; probably ten metres in height and at least three in diameter, Hermione estimated. Her eyes trailed down the structure, spotting ancient runes running across the metallic seal so esoteric that even _she_ did not recognise them.

Her gaze eventually fell upon a hand-written note, helpfully placed at eye-level on the transparent glass of the tank.

_A warning, for those who it may concern._

_It would be advisable for absolutely_ no sound at all _to be made within five metres of this containment zone._ He _gets_ very _cranky at any disturbance to his sleep._

_Just ask Unspeakable Juliet-Ten what happens when you do — she's now sharing the tank with Steven._

_Don't say I didn't warn you._

_Unspeakable Tango-Five, 'The Dragon'_

Well, that wasn't ominous at all.

"Back away, very, _very_ slowly," Harry mouthed to her, cautiously lifting his right foot and taking a good, one-and-a-half-metre-long step away from the tank. Hermione copied him immediately.

They continued this silent retreat, until they were — they hoped — at least five metres away from the tank.

Hermione exhaled heavily, releasing all the pent-up tension in her shoulders. "I wonder what that thing i—"

The shapeless ball of matter suspended within the tank _screeched_.

It made a loud, keening sound; so high and ear-piercing that Harry and Hermione were forced to clap their hands over their ears.

The creature rushed towards the Gryffindor duo, what Hermione identified as a _hand_ reaching _through the glass_ to grab hold of them, obviously intending to drag them into its chamber and devour them whole. She fearfully raised her wand, despite somehow knowing with grim certainty that the instrument would be useless against it—

And then the arcane runes flared with eldritch light, the thing's spindly limbs impacting against some invisible shield.

Containment wards snapped into existence; encompassing the entire tank with a visible sheen of blue light. The magical barriers were so damn _powerful_ that the young Gryffindor could _feel_ the hairs on her arms stand up as the protections manifested on the physical plane of existence.

A wide, pitch-black hole in the floor opened suddenly, and the entire tank sunk down into it; the black blob of _something_ thrashing about wildly as it tried to escape its confinement.

The strange entity contained within gave out one final shriek — which was abruptly cut off, returning the room to its eerie silence — and the top of the tank disappeared from Harry and Hermione's view.

The floor silently and instantly re-formed over the gaping cavity.

The teenagers stared vacantly at the place where the tank had previously stood, breathing more heavily than they had in their entire lives.

"Ho-how about we g-get out of here?" Harry shakily suggested, feeling as if he would collapse at any moment.

Hermione ducked her head forward, once; and then swayed as if the movement had upset her entire internal equilibrium. "Y-yeah, that s-sounds good. Let's do that."

And with that, the two best friends jogged over to the nondescript door on the other side of the room.

They took _very_ good care to avoid the giant pool of some inky black substance, surrounded by a low stone wall, by at least ten metres.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, 18/06/1996…** _

"Moony, _let me go_ — he's my godson, for Merlin's sake! He needs me!"

"I know, Sirius, I know. But don't you think he'd need you more _out_ of Azkaban than inside it?"

Sirius Black briefly paused in his struggle to free himself from Remus's arms, seeming to consider his friend's words.

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded his head at the sandy-haired wizard, spinning on his heel to stride through the activated Floo terminal.

The former Defence Professor had restrained the Black Lord before he could dive through the Floo after the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. The ragtag group of vigilantes had been dispatched to the Ministry by Dumbledore, after the old Headmaster had received word of what was going on within its depths.

The restrained man's shoulders drooped in defeat, and the werewolf hesitantly released his grip on the last individual among the living of his best friends.

"There, there," Remus said consolingly, patting the man on the shoulder. He collapsed into a thin-legged chair at the rickety kitchen table, surreptitiously massaging his temples. A quiet sigh escaped his lips. "I'm sure the Order will soon be back with Harry and his friends."

Sirius shrugged despondently, slumping against the brick mantelpiece and glancing longingly into the still-green fire; as if Harry himself would emerge from it if he stared long and hard enough into the hearth.

"Now, why don't we sit down and have a cup of te— NO! SIRIUS, DON'T—"

Remus's chair clattered against the floor; the weary wizard having jumped to his feet as a _whoosh_ of green flame flashed in the corner of his eye.

"Dammit, Sirius!"

Moony slapped his hand against the unsteady kitchen table — which swayed precariously before returning to its previous position — and continued to spit uncomplimentary adjectives about a certain, black-haired Animagus under his breath.

Drawing his cypress, ten-and-three-quarters wand, Remus strode into the fireplace of Grimmauld Place's rundown kitchen.

A few short seconds later and the werewolf emerged in the Ministry Atrium, quickly spotting the form of Sirius trying (and failing) to hide behind the golden statue that held centre stage in the large room.

"What were you _thinking?"_ he hissed, reaching the Grim Animagus and seizing a handful of his robes. Remus's sharp eyes darted around the silent chamber, devoid of occupants except for him and the black-haired man.

"What would you have done if there was _someone else_ in the Atrium when you arrived, hmm? Did you even think that far ahead?"

Sirius wriggled out of the werewolf's strong grip and smiled winningly at him.

"Well, Moony, I would have charmed the pants off of that person, using my bedazzling charisma and personality," he boasted, buffing his fingernails on the shoulder of his robes. Remus rolled his eyes in response. "They would've been too _spectacularised_ to do anything from that point forward!"

The sandy-haired former Professor sighed, calmly proceeding towards the security checkpoint with his wand clutched at the ready.

 _Well,_ he reasoned at last, _there was no point in trying to send the stubborn man back to the safety of his ancestral home._

"Is _spectacularised_ even a word, Padfoot?" he enquired, chuckling lightly, eyes furtively glancing around the Atrium.

It was as empty as one would expect at ten o'clock in the night.

"But of course, my good Moony!" the aforementioned man-dog responded, cheerily skipping across the open space of the Atrium. Despite his carefree attitude, his wand was clenched in his fist; the whiteness of his knuckles the only sign of his agitated state. "How dare you assume otherwise! Would _I,_ the great Sirius Bla—"

Remus clapped his hand over his old friend's mouth, preventing him from announcing his identity for all to hear.

He only removed it after the immature man had _licked his palm._

"You are a _disgusting_ man, Padfoot," the werewolf outright stated, wiping his hands off on his robes. Sirius grinned unrepentantly in reply. "And do you _want_ the entire Wizarding World to know that the _most wanted wizard in Britain_ is right in their Ministry?"

The Black Lord winced, the thought finally registering in his brain that he should _perhaps_ try to keep his identity under a wrap.

Moony nodded sagely, witnessing the realisation flit across his quite possibly insane yet still good friend's face.

The two adults soon reached the ornate golden elevators that the Ministry was well-known for; the escaped 'convict' pressing the button for _Level Nine_ immediately upon their entry.

The trip down to the bottom floor of the Ministry was spent in silence, no witty banter from either party permeating the tense quiet.

There was a small _ding; the_ tones of a smooth female voice drifting in their ears.

_Welcome to Level Nine — Wizengamot Chambers, Courtrooms One through Ten and the Department of Mysteries._

And then they heard it.

A screech — high, but muffled; as if it had come from quite far away — echoed through the elevator doors, raising the hairs on the backs of Remus' and Sirius' necks.

Their shoulders tensing, the two ex-Gryffindors proceeded out into the darkly tiled hallway once the golden grate had fully risen; worried thoughts at what had caused the sound reverberating through their minds.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**The Death Chamber, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, 18/06/1996…** _

"Nice hit, Prongs!"

The black-haired man jumped to the side, flicking his wrist in a completely silent gesture. The grey-red spell headed for his chest impacted a translucent _Protego,_ and the Death Eater who had fired the spell was catapulted into the far wall with another jerk of Sirius' wand.

A maniacal grin had lit up the Black Lord's face the entire time he had been engaged in battle.

Harry glanced strangely at his godfather, slinging a _Reducto_ and a Cutting Curse at the robed figure trying to sneak up on their flank.

However, he had no time to comment on the man's possibly non-functional recognitive abilities — the teenager was forced to duck under an unknown, cobalt blue spell that _fizzled_ through the space his head had previously occupied.

In some distant part of his mind, Harry thought about how the current situation had come to pass.

He and Hermione had exited the room that held the formless, screeching _thing,_ and a pool consisting of a substance so black that Harry could see a perfect reflection of the roof, when he'd glanced into it — the young wizard would, he'd decided, from the point of his and Hermione's near-deaths, try his absolute best to not return to the Department of Mysteries. _Ever._ There were just too many things trying to kill him here! — and emerging into that room of rotating doors from before.

Unfortunately, Hermione's _Flagrate_ on the entrance they had used to get into the Department had, for some reason, disappeared; so, the two best friends had picked a door at random and hoped for the best.

A large, square cavern had been revealed to them, the roof — peppered with small stalactites — arcing high over their heads; the air holding a stale and musty taste. Around the room's perimeter were multiple, descending levels of stone; benches cut out of the grey rock.

And in the very centre of the room, upon a rocky, dark-grey-almost-black dais, stood an archway — fashioned out of three crumbling monoliths.

When Harry had shifted to the side, he had caught sight of a cloudy, tattered veil — which was swinging back and forth as if in a light breeze; yet the air in the chamber was completely stagnant.

The lowest hints of whispers had drifted into the wizard's ears; tantalisingly soft yet still very much present.

He had found himself ambling closer to the dais, dangerously certain that if he'd just _move the veil out of the way_ , he'd hear the voices clearer—

And then Hermione had latched onto his arm, bodily dragging him away from the innocent-looking arch.

She had wound her arms around his midsection, securely pinning him against a rather tall bench, and squeezed so tightly that Harry thought he would burst.

Her babbling about how she'd called his name _multiple times_ but to no response went directly into Harry's brain, snapping him out of the foggy trance he was in previously.

Upon realising the utter stupidity of trying to touch an unknown object in the _Department of Mysteries_ itself, the young wizard grimaced, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hugging the distraught girl back.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry, Hermione," he apologised, resting his nose in the bushy mess inches away from his face. "I'll be more careful next time. Promise."

Hermione's head was buried in the crook of his neck, and, judging by the strength of her grip, she wasn't going to move any time soon.

She pulled back enough to slap him on the shoulder, her tear-rimmed eyes meeting his.

"You'd _better_ be careful, Harry Potter. If you somehow get yourself killed—"

Her distraught gaze suddenly turned into a threatening glare.

Harry, consequently, felt like he was three inches tall and standing before a very large predator.

"—then I _will_ find a way to bring you back. And _then_ I would kill you, _again,_ with my bare hands. You hear me?"

Harry bobbed his head very quickly indeed.

"Good," the witch responded. She sighed, reluctantly relaxing her grip on the back of his robes and absently brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes.

Her gaze fell upon the doorway through which the pair had entered, and her entire body suddenly froze.

The unfrozen teenager craned his neck to try and get a glimpse of what she had seen.

"There he is! _Get the prophecy!"_

Harry had dropped to the floor the second he had heard the commanding voice, dragging Hermione along with him. The stone bench they were huddled behind shuddered as it was peppered by an onslaught of spells and curses, pebbles and bits of rock falling down onto the pair of teenagers.

His best friend scrambled to her feet, remaining in a low crouch, and quickly moved to the far end of the stone structure; an urgent tug on his wrist encouraging the black-haired Gryffindor to follow her.

The next few minutes passed in a haze of Harry and Hermione frantically clambering around the expansive chamber, ducking into and out of cover whenever necessary. When possible, they returned spellfire against the Death Eaters, attempting to keep the crumbling arch between them and Voldemort's followers.

The countless DA Dodging and Evading sessions — where the two best friends had tried to avoid being pelted with a flurry of paintballs, which had been gleefully fired by the younger members of the club — were finally paying off.

Harry had just begun to think that they would, _perhaps,_ make it out of the Ministry with their heads still attached when _all the doors_ to the Death Chamber suddenly slammed open; countless skull-faced figures dressed in black streaming into the room and quickly taking up positions around it.

There was a pause in the magical skirmish — the two best friends, standing back-to-back in practically the centre of the room; their wands half-raised against the seemingly impenetrable wall of black surrounding them.

Breathing hard, Harry craned his neck to take in the entire room.

Yep, there was no doubt about it.

They were trapped.

An arrogant chuckle emanated from his right, the teenagers spinning to face the source.

The aristocratic features of Lucius Malfoy gleamed in the low lighting; smug satisfaction written upon them. The man casually approached the two Gryffindors, his ornate cane clicking on the dark rock beneath them.

A smirk appeared on the Death Eater's lips. Harry felt the urge to punch it right off of the man's face rise up within him.

"Did you _actually_ think, Potter," he began, slowly strutting around the teenagers; his long, high-quality robes billowing out behind him. Harry and Hermione rotated with his movement, careful not to present their backs to the man. "That you, a mere _child,_ would escape the Dark Lord's finest? How utterly naïve of you."

Raucous laughter echoed out across the cavernous chamber, the Death Eaters on its perimeter highly amused at Lucius's witty remark.

Harry glared at the blond-haired man, but said nothing. His hand found its way into Hermione's; their grip tightening on each other near simultaneously.

"I'll make this very simple, so that a boy of your pitiful intelligence can understand it," Lucius said. The laughter returned, some individuals stamping their boots against the stone beneath them in amusement.

"You give me the prophecy, _now_ , or your _friend_ —"

Three Death Eaters had snuck up behind the teenagers, grabbing hold of Hermione and wrestling her out of his grip. Harry lunged at them, an incoherent yell ripping itself out of his mouth, but was hindered by some kind of invisible wall.

The robed figures manhandled the girl over to the archway — Hermione writhing in their grip frantically, but to no avail — and positioned her so close to the veil that a single push would send his best friend careening right through it.

"—faces an immediate and painful death. So, you have a choice."

Harry's glare intensified greatly, feeling utmost _hatred_ for Voldemort, his followers and the unfairness of the situation well up in his gut.

Lucius ignored the look, pretending that it hadn't affected him at all.

The teenager had spotted the slight flinch in the older man's frame, though, so he felt a _little_ vindicated.

Against his will, Harry felt his hand take hold of the palm-sized ball of glass in his pocket — which had somehow, miraculously, remained intact for the past few hours — and pull it free of its storage place.

"Don't give it to him, Harry!" Hermione suddenly shouted, a sudden burst of energy allowing her to stomp, _hard_ , on the toes of the Death Eater restraining her.

A howl of pain erupted from the robed man, who briefly released his best friend to massage his booted foot.

However, the other two quickly seized onto her flailing arms, forcing Hermione so damn close to the veil that the tattered material floated mere _centimetres_ away from her face.

A quiet whimper escaped the girl's throat, the short-lived defiance leaking out of her frame.

The Boy-Who-Lived mentally cursed the situation, very reluctantly extending his hand towards the elder Malfoy; the fabled prophecy held within it.

However, a _split second_ before he relinquished his grip on the crystal ball, Harry paused.

His eyes were directed over Lucius's shoulder, and had gone wide with something that the Death Eater failed to identify.

Malfoy snapped his gaze behind him, spotting the roguish and slightly emaciated features of one Sirius Black.

The escaped convict was standing not two metres behind the blond-haired man, and, as the other figure moved his hand, something golden glinted on his knuckles.

"Good night, Luscious Lucy," Black said.

Lucius's hand started to move towards his wand. "Black! Yo—"

Sirius drew his fist back and clocked the taller man square in the jaw.

Malfoy bonelessly collapsed to the floor, his cane clattering to the rocky dais and blood pouring out of his ruined face.

With his godfather's action, it seemed like an invisible dam had been broken.

Around the room, multiple pillars of white smoke rushed down from _somewhere,_ impacting against the Death Eaters and ruining their entire formation. Now with some illusionary spell broken, Harry could see that there had been — at most — _twelve_ of Voldemort's followers in the room, rather than the forty or fifty he had guesstimated earlier.

One of the white pillars flew at the Death Eaters restraining Hermione, taking all three out in a single swipe.

Thus with her captors gone, Hermione let out a squeak of surprise and frantically threw out her arms like a bird trying to fly horizontally, desperately attempting to avoid shuffling off the mortal coil.

Harry darted towards her, just in time to see his best friend fall on her bum and scramble away from the tattered veil, which was still swaying in some invisible breeze.

Upon reaching her seated form, the black-haired boy wrapped his arms around her, feeling such a powerful wave of relief and something else course through him that he very nearly fainted in the spot.

"Hermione— thank God— I was so scared—" he blabbered into her hair, briefly increasing the strength of his grip. She patted his hand consolingly, breathing rather rapidly.

And then she forced him down onto the ground, the sickly green tinge of a Killing Curse whizzing through the space Harry had previously occupied.

Harry shook his head for the third time that night, resolving to think about the happenings of the past few hours at a later time.

Having Stunned another Death Eater, he glanced around the room.

He saw peg-legged Mad-Eye Moody squaring off against _four_ of Voldemort's followers simultaneously — and, amazingly, _winning —_ as his magical eye revolved wildly around its socket.

Tonks and a tall, bald man — _Kingsley Shacklebolt,_ Harry thought — were fighting furiously against the robed form of Bellatrix Lestrange.

The insane witch was cackling crazily, swinging her wand around with admittedly effortless grace and successfully holding the two Order members off.

There was Remus, his former Defence Professor, utilising his werewolf-enhanced abilities to duck and dodge between the multiple beams of light careening towards him; his wand a flashing blur of brown wood.

Multiple other Order members were present, too — Harry glimpsed an unknown witch with another unknown wizard successfully take down _another_ two Death Eaters; though the man looked quite unsteady on his feet — and engaging the black-robed figures.

He felt a grin start to worm its way onto his lips; pounding adrenaline coursing through his system as the crackling and _bangs_ of magical combat echoed in his ears.

And then Hermione yanked him out of the way of another curse; the Boy-Who-lived briefly sending a grateful smile in her direction.

Harry shot back to his feet, looking around for another Death Eater to fight.

A darkly robed figure, blood pouring out the side of his head yet still standing upright — _Antonin Dolohov,_ Harry thought — raised his wand towards Harry and Hermione.

The two Gryffindors dived in opposite directions, Dolohov's purple spell flying to harmlessly splash against the stone wall behind them.

They rose as one, wands flashing through their spell-forming motions—

" _Expelliarmus!"_ shouted Harry. He took a further two steps to the left, trying to get a good angle on the Death Eater's back. " _Impedimenta!"_

 _"Bombarda!"_ Hermione yelled, a glimmering _Protego_ protecting her from a _Reducto._ Her shield shook from the impact of the powerful spell, but it held. " _Locomotor Mortis!"_

The man ducked and weaved between the spells, spinning to keep the teenagers within his line of sight.

He silently flicked his wand at Hermione, a sickly yellow spell smashing clean through her _Protego_ and striking her right in the forehead—

Her eyes suddenly widened; the young witch crumpling to the ground as the slightest "oh!" of surprise escaped her parted lips.

She hit the ground with a slight _thump_ and did not move again.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 21/08/2020:  
> The H.M.S Harmony discord link is dis cord (d0t) gg / hhriscanon — remove the '(d0t)' and any spaces. The link should work after that.
> 
> Righto! There's the first chapter done; many more will follow. Stay tuned! :)
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> Avaxius


	2. Falling Down, Down, Down...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Hermione and Sirius take the plunge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:   
> Did I single-handedly become the world's first billionaire author, after being rejected by twelve individual publishing companies? If not, I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I make any money whatsoever from this story. Any OC's in this tale are mine, though.
> 
> Author's Note:   
> Mkay. Second chapter is out. Hope y'all enjoy.
> 
> I took heavy inspiration from JKR's Order of the Phoenix for before the dimensional hop. Just wanted to point that out for those of you who didn't notice.
> 
> I apologise in advance for any delays that may come to my update rate; I have a few important things going on right now that need addressing.
> 
> Alrighty. On with the story!

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**The Death Chamber, the Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, 19/06/1996…** _

Harry felt his entire body freeze, his wand stilling in his grasp; the half-formed incantation dying on his lips.

" _No_ —no, you can't—Hermione, _please_ —get up, c'mon…" he mumbled confusedly, staring vacantly at her still body, and _oh_ God _why wasn't she moving_ —

He jerkily started towards it, completely forgetting that he was still in a duel with a _very_ powerful Death Eater.

Dolohov did not waste the opportunity.

The teenager absently felt himself go flying through the air, landing heavily on the smooth stone floor and sliding to a stop against the lowest level of the stone benches.

A maniacal smile lighting up his blood-streaked face, the dark-haired man approached Harry's dazed and unmoving form. His wand — almost as black as his robes — raised to point at the Boy-Who-Lived—

" _Avada ked—"_

"Diff... _Diffindo!"_

Most of Dolohov's wand arm suddenly separated from his body, hitting the ground with a wet _thud—_

The man stared blankly at the remainder of his limb before the maroon-red light of a Stunning spell silhouetted his body and he joined his severed arm on the floor, completely unconscious.

Harry blinked the dust out of his eyes, staring past Dolohov's still frame.

It was Hermione.

Alive.

In a seated position, she was leaning heavily on the hand she'd placed behind her; her vine wand unsteadily pointed in his direction and its tip smoking ever so slightly.

The young wizard let out a very relieved exhale — determinedly ignoring the Death Eater's bleeding body lying not three metres away from him — which he quickly cut off at the sight of Hermione's wand slackly dropping out of her hand, clattering loudly against the rocky ground.

An expression of absolute horror and disgust on her visage; the skin of her face abruptly lost its healthy pallor—

Her body collapsed backwards, her head listlessly lolling to the side.

Harry scrambled frantically over to her form, his wand rising to, presumably, perform Healing Charms — despite the _small_ fact that the teenager did not know any Charms of that sort at all.

"Hermione?" he whispered, gently placing her head in his lap. He softly brushed strands of brown hair out of her bloodied forehead.

Doing so, he did not notice an airborne Death Eater go flying over his head, hitting the far wall; nor did he notice the satisfied yell emanate from Moody at the robed man's collapsing into a boneless heap.

A bright, woozy smile lit up her features. "Yes, Harry?"

The teenager blinked at her uncharacteristically enthusiastic reply. "Are you okay?"

"I am just _dandy,_ Harry. Thank you for asking!"

She beamed widely, chocolate brown eyes gratefully meeting his emerald green. Hermione suddenly furrowed her brow.

"You know, I've got something to tell you," she imparted, the expression on her face looking for all the world as if the information she held was the most significant in existence.

And then, in a low voice with the slightest glimmer of mischief in her eyes—

"Come closer and I'll tell you."

Harry found himself leaning closer, his head now proximate enough to hers to see the different shades of hazel in her gaze.

She stared seriously and deeply — or, as seriously as one _could_ stare, when lying flat on their back — at him. "I lo—"

And then she blinked rapidly, her grimacing face indicating that the very act had taken an inordinate amount of concentration.

Her gaze, now clear of _something_ which Harry had not noticed before, bemusedly met his.

"Uhm, hello, Harry," she said dryly. "Any particular reason why you're close enough to kiss me?"

Harry pulled back very abruptly indeed, redness spreading across his dusty, sweaty and blood-splattered face. "N-no, no reason— it's just that you had some…something to tell me. N-never mind, though."

Hermione, oddly enough, found herself enjoying his reaction.

She scrutinised his expression for a few moments before shrugging, shakily attempting to sit up.

Her best friend helped her with an arm around her back, and then Hermione's hands suddenly flew to her Expanded pouch.

Harry looked curiously at it. "What're you looking for?"

"Quick, Harry—do you have your wand?" she replied instead, rummaging around frantically in her hip-mounted bag.

It was hastily pressed into her hand and Hermione stuck the tip inside the bag's neck. " _Accio_ Draught of Delirium!"

A small vial rocketed out of her pouch; Harry's Seeker reflexes allowing him to catch the bottle before it smashed against the ground. Hermione removed the cork, downing the flask's contents.

Grimacing again, she shook her head violently as if trying to get water out of her ears.

"You okay?" Harry asked, briefly glancing around their position. Order members were still duelling the Death Eaters, and it looked like the forces of the Light were winning.

"Yeah, I'm—" Hermione took a short pause to cough. Making an expression of disgust, she continued to speak. "—good. Ugh. I am _so_ glad I decided to pack _that_ specific potion…"

"What was that yellow spell?" Harry asked after a few seconds of strained silence. His best friend shuddered slightly in response. "Did you recognise it?"

"It was the _Delirious Dreams_ curse, Harry," Hermione answered quietly.

Recognition failed to blossom on Harry's face.

"You know, the one that made Arsenius Alvarodo go clinically insane after a single exposure? The wizard who was constantly trying to run through walls, completely certain that he was intangible? Ring any bells?"

His features lit up in understanding.

"Oh, yeah, I remember that guy." Harry suddenly snapped his gaze onto her form. "You're not about to try your luck in running through any walls, are you?"

Hermione chuckled heartily, reaching out a hand for her best friend to help her stand up. "No, I don't think I will. And according to a recent study into the curse, it was indicated that ingesting a _Draught of Delirium_ less than five minutes after being hit by the curse mitigated its effects. Hopefully."

By this point in time, the two Gryffindors had looked more thoroughly around the room — miraculously, not a single Death Eater had taken the opportunity to hit them with a spell or two while Hermione had been on the ground.

A figure — his dark robes matted with dust and blood, skull-shaped mask askew on his face— stumbled towards the pair of students, tiredly raising his wand to curse them.

And then Albus Dumbledore materialised in one of the many entrances to the Death Chamber.

His knotted wand was held to the ready; powerful magic visibly swirling around his body and his weathered face hard with grim determination and icy fury.

The Death Eaters still conscious enough to notice Dumbledore's arrival yelled out in abject panic, scrambling away from the Headmaster like woodland animals clambering out of the way of a larger predator.

The man approaching the two youngsters, in particular, dropped his wand in terror, his legs giving out as he tried to scramble away from the centenarian wizard.

Voldemort's followers all but abandoned their allies who lay on the floor, attempting and ultimately failing to escape out of the Death Chamber.

Dumbledore made a wide, sweeping motion with his wand; continuing to descend the stone staircase at a rapid pace.

The two Death Eaters — who had _almost_ scrambled out of an open doorway — were plucked off the rocky steps like an invisible hand had grabbed hold of their backs, depositing them upon the stone floor.

There was one combatant, however, who hadn't even noticed Dumbledore's appearance.

Sirius suddenly turned to engage Bellatrix in a duel, intercepting the witch's course towards his godson.

She bared her teeth at the black-haired man, very annoyed at his interruption.

The Black cousins' duel was fast and furious. Their incantations were mostly silent, iridescent jets of light streaking between the two combatants and gouging great, deep furrows in the stone and rock that the errant spells impacted.

Harry watched on, unconsciously holding his breath as Sirius ducked low, dropping below the glowing beam of death that sailed over his head.

" _Merlin,_ dear Bellatrix," he taunted, laughing uproariously at her. The maniacal grin of before had returned in full force to his features; his dark eyes wild with battle lust.

"Is that all you've got? Surely your sweet little _master_ would have trained his right-hand-witch bet—"

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

It was not the well-known green beam of light that emerged from the tip of Bellatrix's wand.

No, it was a small ball of white light, flying towards the Black Lord far faster than the Killing Curse would have been.

As he had been expecting a certain, death-inducing spell with her shouted incantation, Sirius was thoroughly unprepared for when the quickly-moving and high-powered Banishing charm struck him square in the chest.

His body was lifted off the ground, his wand sailing out of his grip; his person flying directly towards the tattered veil—

Harry _acted._

With an inarticulate scream, the Boy-Who-Lived thrust his wand out towards his godfather, making a pulling motion like he was reeling in a particularly strong fish held on the end of a fishing pole.

 _Pullpullpull_ **pull** —

Sirius's body changed trajectories mid-air and landed with a slight bump at Harry's feet.

He blinked up at his heavily breathing godson, convinced he had seen his entire life flash by his eyes. "T-thanks, Pup."

"N-no problem, Padfoot," Harry absently found himself answering. He was currently staring at his holly wand as if he'd never seen it before. "A-any time."

Bellatrix suddenly let out a screech of triumph.

She turned on her heel and bolted through the open doorway on the far side of the chamber, her high cackles echoing behind her retreating form.

A hand flying to his now-empty pocket, Harry's eyes went wide.

"Headmaster!" he shouted, stumbling towards his unofficial mentor, Hermione and Sirius following along behind him.

Dumbledore was currently tying up three black-robed forms in some sort of magical rope. Upon hearing Harry's shout, he turned to face the approaching group.

"Bellatrix! She's—" Harry panted, cursing his need for air in this critical moment. "She's got the—"

The old wizard's face went white with alarm.

"I need to contain a breach in the p—" Dumbledore paused, shaking his head. "Never mind. Harry, Sirius, Ms Granger, would you be willi—"

The Chief Warlock did not even get to finish his sentence, as the mentioned individuals had immediately bolted towards that same exit, hot on the heels of Voldemort's most competent Death Eater.

They would _not_ let her escape.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**The Atrium, Ministry of Magic, 19/06/1996…** _

The trio raced out of the Department of Mysteries, chasing after Bellatrix and the little orb she had stolen from them.

Fortunately, it had been a clear route to the Atrium — whichever cosmic entity that determined the secretive Department's configuration had luckily acted in their favour.

Up and up through the Ministry they ran, catching the tail end of a high cackle echo down a corridor; glimpsing the corner of a dark robe swishing out of sight around a corner.

Harry, Hermione and Sirius emerged from the security checkpoint, spotting Bellatrix running full pelt across the Atrium to one of the Floo terminals.

She was shouting at the tops of her lungs, absolute delight dripping from her tone.

"MASTER! OH—MASTER, I'VE GOT IT—MASTER, I GOT THE PROPH—"

Sirius silently flung a spell at her back; the crazed witch falling onto the marble floor with a heavy _oof_ and the prophecy serenely rolling out of her grasp.

Hermione whipped up her wand, an incantation flowing from her lips. " _Accio_ Prophecy!"

The small ball of glass noiselessly raised itself off the ground and flew towards her.

Bellatrix scrambled to her knees and jerked her own wand at the levitating crystal ball. "NO! _Accio_ Prophecy!"

The globule containing a gaseous, misty-white substance froze in its trajectory, silently hovering equidistant from both Bellatrix and Hermione.

And then it slowly started to drift towards the older witch; Bellatrix being the magically stronger of the two.

Luckily, Harry had not been idle.

Recalling that same thought of _pullpullpullpull_ from earlier, the Boy-Who-Lived grunted, pointing his wand at the levitating crystal ball and making another 'reeling-in' motion.

The prophecy promptly shattered into a million pieces, the incredibly fine fragments of glass softly falling to the polished ground; the construct unable to withstand all the magical forces acting upon it.

The smoke contained within silently dissipated in the still air of the Ministry's Atrium.

If asked, Harry would say that the display looked as beautiful as snow descending from the heavens.

A sharp pain suddenly lanced through his entire being, as if someone had taken a red-hot fire poker and stabbed it directly into Harry's forehead. He almost dropped his wand in surprise, not having anticipated the painful feeling.

Bellatrix's eyes went wide, the now-desolate witch falling flat on her behind.

A note of true fear finally registered in her voice.

"No—NO! MA—MASTER, PLEASE! I TRIED, I TRIED _MY HARDEST—_ PLEASE, DON'T PUNISH ME—"

" _Quiet,_ Bellatrix. I shall deal with you at a later time."

The high, icy tones accompanying the command echoed loudly around the cavernous Ministry Atrium.

Harry, Sirius and Hermione looked around wildly, trying to locate the voice's source.

Bellatrix scuttled away to a dark corner, fearfully looking down at the polished Atrium floor.

A figure cloaked in a robe of the darkest black noiselessly materialised in the centre of the room.

It was tall; very thin — almost emaciated — and its head was hidden within a hood of that same dark material.

The skeletal silhouette raised its head, and the blood-red eyes of Lord Voldemort stared back at Harry, slit-shaped pupils focusing on the boy with terrifying intensity.

"So. You decided to destroy my prophecy," Voldemort commented softly. His long, spindly fingers gently caressed the orange-brown wood of his wand.

His snake-like eyes narrowed at them; the three Gryffindors — one in spirit, at least — actively resisting the urge to flinch.

"All those incredibly detailed plans…all of those months of preparations…gone; wasted. Poured down the drain, because of _you_ three."

By this point the serpentine figure had started pacing, his gaze unerringly focused on the younger wizards and witch; gaunt head cocked to the side like a curious cat.

"I, therefore, see no more use in keeping you all alive," said Voldemort lightly, as if he was discussing nothing more significant than the weather.

His wand, impossibly fast, snapped up to point directly at Harry's heart. The poor boy didn't even have time to react.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Hermione lunged at Harry, bodily tackling him out of the way of the deathly green curse. It continued downrange, smashing into the security desk and blowing it to smithereens.

Sirius grabbed a handful of Harry's robes and started dragging him towards the golden fountain, trusting Hermione to follow after them. He quickly raised his wand, firing off offensive spell after offensive spell as fast as he could.

Voldemort merely chuckled, swatting the highly destructive curses aside as if they were nothing more than annoying flies.

He returned fire with an extremely powerful _Bombarda,_ one that came so close to Hermione's hastily moved head that she could _feel_ the magical energy crackle off it as the curse passed her by. It impacted against the wall far behind her, gouging a deep crater into its polished surface.

The trio eventually made it behind the golden statue of a centaur, a goblin and a headless wizard, relatively unharmed. Harry's wits returned to him — _finally! —_ and the three flung spells back at their foe, only peeking out of cover long enough to aim before letting their jinxes and curses fly.

The Dark Lord continued moving towards them at an incredibly sedate pace, looking for all the world as if he was taking a relaxing walk in the park.

His wand arm flashed around his body, easily deflecting and shielding all the spells Harry, Sirius and Hermione threw at him.

No matter how much magic the three launched in his direction, Voldemort remained unaffected, casually strolling towards them like an unstoppable force of nature.

The creature's mouth opened in a poor imitation of a yawn.

"There is no point in actively resisting the inevitable, Potter," he said in a bored tone of voice, the slightest flick of his wand causing Hermione's reasonably strong Bludgeoning charm to rocket directly towards Sirius's exposed shoulder. "Give up now, and _maybe_ I'll grant you a quick death."

Harry seized the back of the man's robes, jerking him back into cover as the deflected charm whizzed through the space his body had previously occupied. "Never, Riddle!"

Voldemort suddenly bared his teeth, a curse sending the polished tiles next to Hermione up into the air as tiny little fragments. They peppered the hiding trio, who instinctively cringed away from the explosion.

"Do _not_ call me by that name, Potter!" the tall figure commanded angrily. Harry risked a glance between the centaur's legs and promptly dropped flat on his face as an almost black wave of magical energy cleaved clean through them. "You shall suffer for your insolence!"

"Don't worry, Harry, Sirius," Hermione whispered, slinging a _Reducto_ at the approaching silhouette.

It, expectedly, did not connect with Voldemort's body; instead, the spell was deflected upwards to crash into the roof and cause a cascade of dust to fall to the ground.

"As long as we stay behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren, we should be reasonably safe — according to _The Ministry of Magic, A History,_ it's been specifically enchanted against vandalism and offensive spe—"

Voldemort grew impatient with their little cat-and-mouse game, deciding to blast his way through the 'enchanted' statue with multiple, high-powered Killing Curses.

Hermione squeaked at the loud _bangs_ that sounded out from the impacts of the Dark Lord's spells, scrambling further behind what little dwindling cover they had.

Old Mad-Eye Moody's voice suddenly echoed through Sirius' mind, back from the time when a younger, dark-haired man had enlisted in the Auror Corps with his similarly-black-haired best friend.

" _Oi, you two! Black, Potter!_ Never _remain stationary when in a magical duel! You stay in one place,_ you die, _you hear me?! Constant vigilance!"_

With his former mentor's words in mind, the Animagus waited for the perfect opportunity.

When Voldemort was close enough and had his wand pointed at the opposite side of the golden fountain, Padfoot pounced, changing into his Grim Animagus form mid-air.

The large, bear-like dog latched its teeth around Voldemort's left arm, thrashing its head around wildly.

Voldemort hissed, a flick of his wand sending a jet of grey light into the hide of the shaggy animal.

It let out a piteous whimper, another gesture of the Dark Lord's wrist resulting in Padfoot being flung across the room, where he eventually came to a stop in a boneless heap near the elevator-phone-box thingy.

Harry gave an incoherent scream of rage at the sight of his godfather lying injured on the ground.

He recklessly stood up and vertically slashed his wand at Voldemort, feeling the hatred from earlier that night come rocketing back to the forefront of his mind.

Hermione lunged out of the questionable safety provided by the ruined statue to grab Harry, attempting to pull him back into cover.

Voldemort simply side-stepped the surprisingly powerful wave of magic that had originated from the Boy-Who-Lived's wand, a returning thrust of his magical weapon sending the Muggleborn girl careening backwards into the far wall.

She hit the wall with a sickening _thump_ and slowly slid down it, eventually settling into an awkward, half-crumpled position on the floor; her unmoving body seemingly dead to an outside observer—

It was only the fact that Hermione's chest was shallowly rising that prevented Harry from outright using the Killing Curse on Voldemort right then and there.

Which probably would have knocked the younger wizard out as a result of complete magical exhaustion.

The Dark Lord gestured again with his wand. Harry felt himself get lifted into the air, arms and legs spread wide; his holly wand ripped out of his grip and clattering to the floor somewhere in all the water-soaked rubble.

Voldemort rolled his neck as if he had just completed a rather pleasant warm-up routine.

"Such _potential_ you have, Harry. I can just imagine the heights of magic that I could've brought you to…" whispered the man-snake, lifting his right arm with a seemingly regretful mien. "Alas, dear child, you must die; for I, the great Lord Voldemort, to be truly victorious."

"Good-bye, Harry Potter. _Avada Kedavra!"_

The boy stared, with morbid curiosity, as the vivid beam of green light rapidly approached his body.

Closing his eyes at the very last moment, Harry wondered if death would hurt.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**The Atrium, Ministry of Magic, 19/06/1996…** _

But death never came.

For when Harry reluctantly opened his eyes, he found a mirror-image of himself staring right back.

Blinking slightly, the boy amended his observation.

No, he was staring at a large rectangle consisting of polished tiles — the floor of the Atrium, he eventually realised —which had somehow raised themselves in front of him like a shield.

"What is this—" Voldemort started, looking around wildly.

And then—

" _DUMBLEDORE!"_

Albus Dumbledore stood in the entrance to the Ministry's lower levels, his robes billowing majestically in some invisible wind. His magic crackling powerfully around his tall body, the Headmaster slowly approached the form of his former student.

His knotted wand was pointed towards Harry, and his face was the hardest and coldest that the young wizard had ever seen it be.

"Tom Riddle," Dumbledore greeted pleasantly, as if he was meeting up with an old acquaintance. And then his demeanour became completely devoid of gaiety. "I see you've attempted to kill young Harry here. I simply cannot allow that to happen."

Voldemort snarled in response, flinging a Killing Curse at his old Headmaster.

The centenarian wizard disappeared with a silent _whoosh_ of air, re-appearing directly behind Riddle.

A scintillating beam of blue-white energy extended from Dumbledore's wand, almost impacting his enemy's exposed back — had a silvery, translucent shield not snapped into existence and deflected the attack.

Spinning on his heel, Voldemort whipped his wand up to fire another green jet of light at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore side-stepped the Killing Curse, waving his wand around in an intricate motion—

The tiled floor around the Dark Lord suddenly rose like a liquid, conforming perfectly to his body and binding him from the waist down. Metallic chains infused with a blue glow flew towards the trapped man-snake, attempting to wrap fully around his upper body.

A grey cage materialised above Voldemort, descending rapidly to confine him fully—

Riddle, in response, drew his arms in tightly, as if he was hugging himself.

He then violently threw them outwards with a deafening scream, a sphere of bright orange light surrounding his body and expanding rapidly. The liquidized floor on his form disappeared as if it had not existed, the magical chains disintegrating into ash and the grey cage banished high into the air.

It firmly lodged itself in the room of the Atrium, which was at _least_ thirty metres off the ground.

Harry stared incredulously at the pair of incredibly powerful wizards.

"You fight not to kill, Dumbledore?" Voldemort breathed, now free of his bindings; his teeth bared as he launched a thick pillar of deathly green energy at the Headmaster. "It shall be your downfall!"

Dumbledore fired back his own beam of eldritch blue; the two manifestations of pure magic impacting each other with a dull _boom_ and the offshoots of the spells dripping to the floor like a liquid—

Harry felt the invisible force holding him up suddenly disappear, his body falling heavily to the ground.

The young wizard was forced to shield his eyes as the beams collided, his hair and clothes billowing wildly in the strong wind somehow generated by the powerful magic being performed.

"There are many ways by which a man can be defeated, Tom," Dumbledore countered calmly, circling to his right. Voldemort emulated his enemy, walking towards his left. "Most, I suspect, would not feel sufficiently vindicated at the mere taking of your life—"

Despite feeling exhaustion in his very bones, the raven-haired teen scrambled onto his hands and knees, rapidly searching around in the rubble for his wand.

Bellatrix was still in her crouched position, in her dark corner; gazing awestruck as her master fought against the Leader of the Light.

Upon finding the rod of holly wood, Harry stumbled over to his best friend's slumped form, collapsing heavily next to her. Absently, he Summoned his godfather's unconscious, now-human body as gently as he could — despite the well-established fact that Summoning charms didn't work on living people.

The boy watched in complete amazement as the two titans of magic engaged in combat, their wands a formless blur and constantly in motion. Countless amounts of spells and curses emanated from both individuals, flying towards their respective opponent at a speed far too fast for Harry to even comprehend.

Even more impressive was the fact that the duel was _completely silent._

No incantations passed either wizard's lips as the two combatants duelled and matched each other spell-for-spell, except for the occasional grunt of effort or pant for breath.

Upon seeing the highly impressive display, Harry could tell that the serpentine man was a _lot_ more powerful than he'd previously assumed.

Voldemort hadn't even gone full-out on him, Hermione and Sirius; yet they had been completely and utterly trounced!

A slight moan escaped his best friend's mouth, the girl blearily blinking her eyes open to stare at the roof.

Harry's gaze snapped to her awakening form, relief plain on his features. "Oh, thank Merlin—Hermione, you're alright—"

She painfully attempted to sit up. Harry smoothly positioned himself behind her, letting the girl lean back against his chest as his arms wrapped protectively around her exhausted body.

Hermione spoke slowly as if the very act of breathing was painful. Harry silently offered her a vial containing a purple liquid that he'd retrieved from her pouch; the witch recognising the pain-relief potion and gratefully ingesting it.

"Harry…what happened?" she whispered.

"Voldemort happened, Hermione," he responded in a quiet voice, watching as the mentioned individual fired an arcing beam of white lightning at Dumbledore. The Headmaster made another gesture — a small tower of copper raised itself out of the floor. The lightning veered off to the left, grounding itself within the short structure of the metal.

Dumbledore returned fire by Conjuring a swarm of small, globular balls of light. They raced towards Voldemort, who merely flicked his wand in an upwards motion.

The balls of light impacted against the Atrium's ceiling, explosions detonating loudly — with far more concussive force than such small globules should have produced — from where they hit it.

An unending cascade of rubble and debris, including the grey cage from before, fell to the Atrium's floor with enough force to punch right through the polished expanse.

From his position, Harry couldn't see properly into the hole. Judging by the gloomy, low lighting emerging from it, though, he estimated the aperture had reached all the way down to the Department of Mysteries.

Just how a few pieces of rubble had caused such damage, the young wizard had no clue.

"Where…others?" Hermione coughed, mentally cursing her incredibly dry throat.

The lip of a bottle filled with water — again drawn from her hip-mounted pouch. _Merlin,_ that thing was useful! — was helpfully pressed against her mouth before she even had to ask. Hermione gratefully drunk the offered liquid, feeling her affection for her best friend rise to insurmountable levels.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, gently resting his chin upon her shoulder. Hermione leaned back further into his embrace, sighing slightly. "I think they're still downstairs, somewhere. Probably with the rest of the Order."

He nudged her cheek with his nose after a brief silence had settled between the two. "Thanks, by the way."

"For…what?"

"Attempting to save my reckless arse," Harry clarified, guilt now in his tone. He wasn't _just_ speaking about her tackling him out of the way of Voldemort's Killing Curse — rather, the entire Department of Mysteries debacle itself.

Hermione rolled her eyes, lightly squeezing the hand resting on her stomach. "You're…you're welcome, Harry. Just, next time, _please_ try to…to not get yourself into such situations. I may not be able to get you out of them again."

She and Harry suddenly let out cries of alarm as they felt themselves — along with Sirius' still unconscious body — gently get lifted off the ground and deposited rather close to the gaping chasm in the tiled floor.

A _basilisk consisting entirely out of fire_ crashed into the space they'd previously occupied; blindingly-hot fangs extended—

The relocated teenagers stared incredulously at the creature; mouths agape in horror. Sweet _Merlin,_ that had been close!

The monster reared back, stretching to its full, hundred-foot-tall height and shaking its head as if to reorient itself.

It positioned its body to strike again at the exhausted trio.

Dumbledore materialised about ten metres in front of them, still radiating magic as a furnace would heat.

Though, Harry could see fatigue begin to creep into the Chief Warlock's frame; his movements becoming ever-so-sluggish.

Voldemort was faring no better; a slight sheen of sweat upon his bald head and breathing slightly more heavily than usual.

The flaming construct suddenly lost its form; the old Headmaster whipping his magical weapon around his head like a lasso.

The shapeless bands of fire collected around Dumbledore's shape, chaotically rushing around him and building in intensity as they did.

Harry only just noticed the rather large crowd of wizards and witches at the far end of the expansive room, who had entered it at some point in the last five minutes.

And at the forefront of the group was none other than Minister Fudge himself.

The incompetent politician's mouth was soundlessly opening and closing as he took in the sight of the Chief Warlock duelling the _one_ individual that Fudge had ardently insisted remained dead.

Dumbledore relinquished most of his control over the fire; long tongues of flame streaking towards Voldemort.

Hurricane-force winds manifested in the destroyed Atrium, the Dark Lord dissipating the incoming streaks of fire before they could reach him.

Catching sight of the collection of Ministry officials gazing horror-struck at him — which was getting larger by the second, as more individuals Floo'd into the Atrium — Riddle snarled in frustration. His return had now been revealed to the Wizarding World.

Voldemort whipped his wand up, launching multiple crackling balls of dark, scintillating energy towards the still-frozen Minister.

Dumbledore spun on his heel, vanishing from sight. He reappeared inbetween the rotund politician and the oncoming balls of assured death and destruction.

The Headmaster gripped his wand at the base and held it in front of his chest, the tip pointing towards the ceiling.

It — the top of his wand, not the Atrium's roof— began to glow a soft blue, a crescent-shaped shield fading into existence around the old wizard.

As they impacted his defences, the balls were transformed into harmless, sparkly granules of dust, which softly fell to the floor.

Despite his assassination attempt having failed, Voldemort smirked triumphantly.

His distraction had worked.

Sirius finally awoke, groggily standing up and favouring his left side slightly. He looked down at the figures of his godson and the boy's best friend, who were also slowly rising to their feet. "You guys alright?"

"Yeah, we're good," Harry replied, supporting Hermione as she leaned rather heavily on him. The mentioned girl nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her water-logged shoes.

The young wizard's eyes suddenly widened. "Siri—"

Sirius glanced away from his inspection of his bloodied hands only to see a familiar ball of white light impact his chest, sending the Black Lord sliding rapidly along the ground.

And directly towards the gaping hole in the Atrium's floor, near the destroyed remains of the ornate fountain.

Harry's wand had been discarded in the rubble somewhere, so the teenager was unable to Summon his godfather again.

So, instead, he raced after the man's coasting form, only stopping at the edge of the chasm when Sirius's body disappeared into it.

Harry saw his godfather falling through multiple levels of the underground building, the Animagus' trajectory leading him towards a stone-walled pool of an inky black substance. The small pond was situated in that room with the amorphous, screeching _thing,_ and had now been exposed to the air of the Atrium.

 _Something_ compelled Harry to leap after Sirius' body, the boy rapidly descending after the older man.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione glimpsed the forest-green tinge of a Killing Curse streaking towards her. It was moving too fast to be dodged, and so she only had one option.

Hermione fearlessly threw herself over the edge, emulating her best friend and his godfather as she plummeted towards that pool of blackness.

Voldemort let out a victorious shout, Disapparating away from the Ministry. His right-hand lieutenant, unseen, followed along behind her master, maliciously gleeful at the Boy-Who-Lived's apparent death.

The trio somehow caught up to each other; Harry clamping his hand on Sirius's flailing ankle and Hermione latching tightly onto his hand.

The impenetrable expanse of blackness became inexorably larger as the seconds ticked on until all Harry could see was his own reflection staring back at his falling body.

The young wizard wondered, again, if the impact — and, consequentially, death — would hurt.

He broke the surface of the pool and his world became an unending field of dark.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**Unknown Location, Unknown Time, Unknown Date…** _

_I think, therefore I am._

With that statement, a consciousness manifested in the all-encompassing expanse of non-existence.

It floated silently in the formless void between worlds, trying and failing to come up with a reason for its continued existence.

Then the notion of having a self-identity drifted through its mind, and the consciousness named itself Hermione Granger.

She tried to comprehend her current situation with non-functional senses, but utterly failed in her endeavour; the human mind not having evolved to fathom existence in such a foreign place.

If it could even be called a _place,_ that is…a _state of being_ felt more aptly descriptive to the entity known as Hermione.

She just… _was._

There just was no other explanation for it.

She blinked with eyes that previously had not existed, taking in the shapeless grey mist of her surroundings.

It coalesced into a set of solid surfaces, finally comprehendible to the girl's decidedly human mind. A bricked pathway manifested below Hermione's feet, wide enough to allow no more than four beings to walk abreast of each other comfortably.

The fog on the sides of the road and on the 'ceiling' remained indistinct and shapeless; the young witch somehow knowing that it would be highly advisable to stick to the middle of the path.

Hermione could see the entire visage perfectly — _everything_ at once being illuminated simultaneously and equally; a perfect, harmonious balance between That-Which-Isn't and That-Which-Is.

There were no shadows; for there was no singular source of light for the dark shapes to form from.

Reality in its truest, most basic form — proudly put on display for the inter-dimensional travellers.

The thought that such lighting should be impossible failed to register in her mind.

She found herself proceeding down the bricked pathway, sensing two… _presences_ on either side of her; silently accompanying the girl on her jaunt through the space between worlds.

The one on her left, coined Padfoot by itself, was physically taller than the other two — though such words held no meaning in this plane of existence.

An emaciated, horrifically burnt baby was being carried by the presence on Hermione's right; the entity calling itself Harry Potter. Had one looked at him in the tangible world, one would have seen vibrant green eyes topped by a mop of inky black hair.

The oddity of lugging around an infant in such a strange and possibly dangerous place as _this_ failed to register in Harry's mind too.

They eventually came to a stop at the threshold of an intimidating, dark-grey wall.

It was unimaginably tall and wide; stretching as far as Hermione could see in both horizontal and vertical directions. The slightest touch of a fingertip against its smooth surface discerned the fact that the barrier was as solid as it appeared.

Her companions stopped at the same time as she did; closely inspecting the wall as silently as they had been walking.

"What do we do now, Pup, Big Brain?" the presence on her left — Padfoot — asked. " _That_ looks — to me, at least — like an impassable wall."

Though, the term ' _ask'_ didn't deal the action sufficient justice — the best way that Hermione could describe what the entity did was convey its message through _meaning._

The being in the middle of the little procession glared furiously at the entity on its left.

Said entity suddenly felt like its very existence was being threatened in that one single look.

"Do _not_ call me _Big Brain_ , Padfoot, if you value your current, unharmed state," the offended one growled, turning away from the highly repentant being and running intangible hands against an equally intangible wall.

The being on her right pointed at a door — which had materialised in the last few seconds — with its free arm. "We could try that, I suppose."

A genderless, humanoid figure _glided_ out of the aperture, its true shape hidden by a cloak peppered with spots of the darkest light and juxtaposed against a backdrop of the lightest darkness.

The young witch didn't even _try_ to explain the reality-bending properties of the cape.

The being turned towards the trio — and, despite the entity lacking eyes, the three consciousnesses felt that its attention was somehow upon them.

"Travellers. Welcome to the Great Barrier," it greeted; again, transmitting its message not via words but in _meaning._

"Uh, hello," Hermione said in reply. She cocked her transparent head to the side curiously. "How long have you been standing there, if you don't mind me asking?"

"In the great Void between worlds, floating in the sweet embrace of fathomless Nothingmore," it began, adopting a grave mien to its persona.

The three travellers stared, intrigued, at the entity, who began to gesture widely as it continued to speak.

"The far-reaching influence of Lady Time herself ceases to have any non-negligible effect. Entities existing in this state of being are not compelled into adherence with her most stringent of laws."

The dark silhouette stared expectantly at the trio of human entities as if it was waiting for something to happen.

Its 'shoulders' slumped despondently when it observed that the newest visitors to the Great Barrier weren't duly impressed with its occupant's theatrics.

"So…time doesn't work here?" Padfoot half-stated, half-asked.

He was granted an approving nod for his question.

"Wait, who even are you?" Harry suddenly inquired, shifting the charred baby in his arms slightly.

"Oh, my apologies," the entity replied. It proceeded to gallantly introduce itself, even going so far as to dip the upper half of its figure in a little bow. "I am Gatekeeper Avantis of the Great Barrier, Travellers."

There was, maddeningly, a complete absence of recognition in the minds of its visitors.

So, the Gatekeeper continued to speak.

"I guard the various pathways between realities, letting those who pay sufficiently to pass through. For those who don't, however…" Avantis raised its shoulders, imitating a shrug.

"Well. You can just take a look behind you."

The trio slowly chanced a look in the indicated direction.

And nearly jumped into a state of _pure_ non-existence — a black, gaping chasm in the very fabric of reality was silently lurking behind them; the singularized antithesis of existence itself hovering a very short distance away from their bodies and _hissing_ very loudly.

The group of interdimensional travellers had not had the _slightest_ clue that they were _literally_ inches away from complete and utter annihilation.

"Right, okay," Padfoot squeaked out in reply. He surreptitiously shuffled forward a couple of inches, trying to put some distance between him and the wide, yawning maw of _death._

If asked, the black-haired man would have said that he'd responded to that discovery with a 'manly growl of assent.'

And his two companions would have helpfully corrected him, laughing aloud at his consequent put-out expression.

"What would be sufficient payment, then, for all three of us?" Harry asked, also inching away from the frightening spectacle.

He re-positioned the red bundle onto his other shoulder, seemingly not noticing that he was holding onto a badly burnt babe.

The Gatekeeper's attention was drawn to the small figure at its movement.

Had the extra-dimensional being had eyes, they surely would have widened in the accompaniment of Avantis sharply drawing in a breath.

" _That_ would be adequate remittance, Travellers," it stated in a quiet tone, tilting its head towards the item in question.

Harry, Hermione and Padfoot's eyes all fell upon the baby.

The younger wizard let out a shout of surprise as he _finally_ realised what he'd been lugging around for all of this time.

A frown appeared on then Hermione's visage; an expression reluctantly mirrored on Harry's face.

"But—but—it's a _baby…"_ he weakly protested, feeling the odd urge to clutch onto the mentioned infant tighter. It started wriggling about as if somehow sensing that it was being talked about.

The Gatekeeper 'stared' incredulously at them.

"It's also a _Horcrux,_ Traveller," Avantis pointed out, crossing its darkly coloured arms.

"You do know what they are, right?" came the question from the black humanoid, upon observing the blankness in their minds.

The extraplanar equivalent of a human sigh escaping the general vicinity of its head, the Gatekeeper continued to explain the subject more thoroughly.

"Horcruxes — technically, the plural form of the word is _Horcruces,_ but it's far easier to use the mentioned term — are, in as simple words as possible, fragmented parts of souls," Avantis said, its 'voice' taking on a lecturing tone.

A bewildered Padfoot, an intrigued Hermione and a horrified Harry listened carefully to the entity's explanation.

"They are created by those stupid enough to split and fracture the very essence of their being; whereby said individuals are prevented from passing into the realm of Lady Death when it's their time. The existence of these objects is a source of not insignificant vexation on Death's part, as time and time again they deprive her of new souls to process and, sometimes, devour."

"In fact, she told me very recently that a particularly irksome little being — self-named _Voldemort_. 'Flee from Death'? Really? Ha! — had made f—"

The extra-dimensional being suddenly stopped talking, as if a voice-restrictive force of supracosmic proportions had acted upon the entity.

The Gatekeeper shook its head, refocusing on the three souls before it.

"So, Travellers. If you want to bypass the Barrier, thereby avoiding the bittersweet embrace of Oblivion—"

Avantis nodded towards the 'physical' embodiment of existential extermination, which had noiselessly drifted slightly closer to the trio at some point in the last few 'minutes'.

The Travellers had no more space with which to manoeuvre; them having moved towards the enormous wall until they were practically attempting to merge with whatever material it was made of.

"—then you, Harry, shall give me the Horcrux, and your little group shall be allowed on its way."

The mentioned individual reluctantly handed over the baby, feeling as if he was finally parting with a piece of himself that had just _not_ belonged.

"How did you know my name?" he enquired, once the charred infant was in the arms of the Gatekeeper. The baby writhed about frantically, its infantile mind keenly aware that its very existence was being threatened by the one holding it.

"The Gatekeeper of the Great Barrier sees All," the coal-black figure replied mysteriously. Gliding to the side, it gestured the trio passage through the mentioned wall.

Hermione nodded thankfully at the powerful entity as she walked past it. Harry and Padfoot copied her example, ducking their heads gratefully.

"Safe journey and fruitful endeavours, Travellers," Gatekeeper Avantis said, bidding them farewell as the Horcrux baby settled down, seemingly accepting its inevitable fate.

The three humans waved back at the entity, proceeding down the now unblocked, bricked path and — unknowingly — into another reality.

And then, quietly, mumbled in an afterthought—

"I wish you the greatest amounts of luck, oh Children of Fate. I fear that you shall need it."

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**The Death Chamber, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, 19/06/1996…** _

Meanwhile, in a reality quite similar yet very much fundamentally different, a battle was being fought within the depths of the Ministry of Magic.

"Lovely hit, Moony!"

The tall man — outfitted in grey, Auror-grade light dragonhide clothing — ducked out of the way of a sickly blue spell that would have surely converted his internal organs down into their constituent atoms, _despite_ his armour, had it impacted his body.

A complicated flick of his wrist resulted in the stone blocks rising out of the floor like a liquid, conforming perfectly to his darkly robed opponent's body and binding him in place.

The trapped Death Eater was quickly Stunned in his stone cocoon.

James Potter brushed strands of sweaty black hair out of his eyes; his sharp brown gaze scouring the Death Chamber for more followers of Voldemort to fight.

He glimpsed the similarly armoured form of his wife duelling furiously against two Death Eaters, her copper-red hair flipping around in its ponytail majestically.

She was standing guard over the large rock their daughter, Rosalyn Potter, and Frank's son, Neville Longbottom, were hiding behind; a small ball filled with a cloudy white gas clutched in the girl's small hand.

A shimmering shield of blue energy formed around the two students of Hogwarts, protecting them from a dark purple curse. It originated from a Death Eater, blond-ish brown hair matted down and stained with dust and blood, who had been attempting to flank around their hidden position.

James' wand flashing through its spell-forming motions, he sent a powerful Banishing charm towards the bleeding man.

His aim was true; the black-robed figure rapidly shooting away to slump painfully upon the lowest level of the stone benches.

Another flick resulted in a reasonably sized rock flying towards the prone body, Transfiguring itself into thick bands of grey material mid-air.

The bindings wrapped around the downed Death Eater and prevented his unconscious form from moving.

When the brown-eyed man turned back to those he held dear in his heart, he was treated to a rather humorous sight.

Lily had successfully landed a hex on her left-most opponent, one that resulted in the man collapsing to the ground; flailing his limbs wildly as what looked like small bats messily ripped themselves free of his nostrils and bloodied his face.

 _Served the bastard right_ , James thought vindictively.

The Death Eater on Lily's right suddenly began clucking loudly like a chicken; white, blue-tipped feathers spouting out of all patches of exposed skin and the man-duck hopping around frantically on one leg.

James — very reluctantly, mind you — put both Death Eaters out of their admittedly amusing misery with two, quick Stunning spells.

He approached the flushed form of his wife and briefly wound his arm around her shoulders, pressing a light kiss to her sweaty temple. "Alright, dear? Death Eaters give you any trouble?"

Lily, slightly irritated, puffed on the errant tresses of red hair that had escaped her high ponytail. A marginal scowl appeared on her beautiful features.

"Mulciber clipped my shoulder with a Scalding hex," she replied, gingerly probing the top of her left arm with her wand hand. She hissed as it came into contact with the affected area. "So, I clocked him around the head with a new spell I'd been working on. You can see the results."

James glanced towards where his wife indicated with her wand.

The robed figure, now revealed as Mulciber, was out cold and lay flat on his back; the same bats from before still attacking his ruined face.

The Potter patriarch chuckled heartily at her seemingly over-the-top reaction and its effect on the unfortunate Death Eater.

A further glance around the room revealed a single, darkly robed man — the last remaining follower of Voldemort who hadn't fled the Death Chamber when it had become apparent that the forces of the Light were winning — falling under the combined onslaught of a half-dozen wands.

The victorious Order of the Phoenix began securing the black-robed figures for the largely incompetent Ministry to find at some point in the future.

Though, they were not without their own injuries and fatalities — James glimpsed his best friend, Remus Lupin, gently laying a white tarp over the body of an unknown witch.

"The infamous Tiger Lily stretches her claws again!" he announced theatrically, forming a claw with his free hand. Lily rolled her eyes in response, amused at his antics. "Death Eaters, racist sycophants and unpleasant people in general, beware of the Red Tiger!"

"Hey, Dad — _please,_ for the love of Merlin, stop that," Rosalyn suddenly pleaded, burying her face within her hands. She was _embarrassed_ to hell.

Neville's lips silently twitched, the Boy-Who-Lived's tall frame tiredly slumping against the large rock behind him as his wand finally dropped to his side.

Lily reluctantly released her grip on her husband. "Mind your language, young lady," she admonished, picking small bits of debris out of her dragonhide clothing.

Rosalyn grinned toothily. "Sorry, Mum," the girl apologized sincerely, clearly not repentant at all.

Her mother rolled her eyes again. "Come on, then, let's get you back to Hogwarts. You too, Neville."

The three started to walk towards one of the Death Chamber's entrances, all of them slightly favouring some part or another of their bodies.

"Rose? You still have the prophecy?" Neville suddenly asked after a few minutes of silence.

Wizard and the two witches proceeded through the Time Room; the soft, scintillating glow of the large, crystal bell-like jar illuminating their path.

Rosalyn carefully stepped over a small pile of the smashed remains of what looked like hundreds of Time Turners. Her mother and Neville also cautiously avoided the golden powder that spilt from the broken glass, twinkling deceptively with an innocent shine.

She produced the mentioned item from her pocket, perfectly intact and undamaged. "Yeah, I managed to snatch it back from a Death Eater… Dolohov? I think? Anyways, I got it before he could escape with it—"

They stepped into a room containing a tall vat with _something_ trapped inside, a large pool of some inky black substance and deadly looking, wickedly sharp metallic weapons hanging off the wall.

Rosalyn had just enough time to hold the valuable prophecy in such a way that it would _not_ instantly be destroyed before her body hit the ground; the girl having tripped over some small object.

Raising her head, she turned around to glare at whatever item had caused her to tumble.

But then her gaze landed on a leg — a _human leg,_ clothed in bloodied, dusty, dark blue jeans — and slowly trailed up the attached body, eventually stopping on its head.

Malachite eyes — identical to her own, right down to the slightly lighter shade of green in the right eye — looked back at her from a pale face under a mop of unruly, jet-black hair, which was streaked with healthy amounts of grey dust.

In fact, had someone looked at Rosalyn and the unknown person, they would not have been admonished for assuming that the two were siblings.

She _stared,_ blinking rapidly.

The boy _stared_ right back, his eyelids flitting up and down as rapidly as hers.

"Uh, hi," she greeted, bemusedly. The boy's gaze snapped back to hers, briefly having wandered around the room. "Who are you?"

His finger suddenly flew to his lips in the universal _shushing_ motion, his eyes fearfully falling upon the silent tank on the far side of the chamber.

Rosalyn immediately fell quiet, wondering how the tall container of some calm, viscous liquid could have possibly incited such a reaction in him.

"Hello," he replied in a very, very low voice, after a few seconds of strained silence and half-expectant staring at the tank. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter. What's your name?"

She propped herself up on an elbow, refusing to believe that she was _actually_ gaining someone's acquaintance when lying flat on the floor.

The young witch also determinedly ignored the _little_ fact that the boy had identified himself as a Potter, despite her not recognising him at all.

"Rosalyn Potter. A pleasure to meet you," she said in an equally low voice, stretching out her free hand for him to shake.

He took it with an utterly bewildered mien, giving her hand a brief squeeze and a single shake before releasing.

And then his gaze fell upon her mother and Neville — who were both staring at him and his companions incredulously — and the staring match of before resumed, though, this time, with different individuals participating.

Rosalyn sighed.

She could feel a _long_ conversation coming in the very near future.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 28/08/2020: Okay, the second chapter is done now. Stay tuned for more updates. :)
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> Avaxius


	3. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Did I single-handedly become the world's first billionaire author, after being rejected by twelve individual publishing companies? If not, I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I make any money whatsoever from this story. Any OC's in this tale are mine, though.
> 
> Author's Note:  
> Righto, here's the third chapter of Respective Counterparts. Enjoy at your leisure.  
> I apologise in advance for any delays that may come to my update rate; I have a few important things going on right now that need addressing.
> 
> Minor warning:  
> There shall be a small mention of torture in this chapter — do not worry, it is not graphic. If you don't like to read that sort of stuff, please click away now.  
> Alrighty. On with the story!

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**_The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 19/06/1996…_ **

"So, Madam Pomphrey? What's the diagnosis?"

She did not reply immediately, staring pensively at the unmoving bodies before her.

The sounds of birds tweeting outside the high, arching windows signified that it was the _very_ early morning after the incident within the Department of Mysteries.

James' unsuccessfully muffled yawn and Rosalyn's body, almost swaying on the spot from exhaustion, also emphasised this fact.

Soon after the unknown boy had made eye contact with Lily and Neville, he'd collapsed to the floor — joining his companions in a similar state of unconsciousness — while the still-awake individuals had blinked confusedly at them.

Within a short amount of time, the red-headed woman's brain had finally switched on, resulting in the three injured people quickly being transported to Hogwarts — only _after_ the dark-haired man's left arm had been checked and inspected. After all, Lily had always been told that it was never harmful to exercise caution — for immediate medical attention.

Said people were currently in a magic-assisted coma, breathing slowly and deeply as they lay upon the crisp, snow-white sheets of their respective hospital beds.

The grey-haired Mediwitch's gaze continued to travel over the three unconscious forms of her patients for a few seconds. Her wand, which previously had been shooting a multitude of charms and spells out of its tip, fell to tap thoughtfully against her stark white apron. The other occupants of the Hospital Wing stood in silence, waiting for its matron to gather her thoughts.

She then frowned, creases appearing on her forehead. "Well, it's as one would expect for individuals coming right out of a fight. Magical exhaustion, largely superficial cuts and bruises, et cetera, et cetera. Though, _that_ magical burn—"

Madame Pomphrey gestured with her wand, pointing out a rather painful-looking, bright red patch of skin in the dark-haired man's side. A thin line of drool escaped the mouth of the comatose figure, whose rather striking facial features — to James, at least — looked oddly familiar.

He was, no matter how hard he tried, unable to fully shake the uncanny feeling of _recognising_ the slumbering man.

"—will need some special attention. Other than a short conversation to determine their mental state after the ordeal that they've been through, and once their injuries have been dealt with, I don't see them requiring any further treatment."

Remus nodded, leaning back against the footrail of the hospital bed behind him. "All right then, Madame Pomphrey. Thank you."

"Although…" she continued, after a few seconds of silence.

James shared a glance with his wife, who was standing rather close to the form of the boy whose hair was as dark as the night — one who, if he wasn't mistaken, looked frighteningly similar to James himself.

"What is it, Poppy?" Lily enquired, suddenly worried.

An expression of utmost bewilderment appeared on the matron's face.

She dismissed their concerned visages with an absent wave of her hand. "No, no — nothing bad has happened. It's just that I've performed _Reliqua Magicis_ four different times and was presented with varying and rather strange results."

James, Rosalyn and — surprisingly — Remus promptly turned to look at Lily, incomprehension on their faces and seeking an explanation.

The subject of their stares rolled her eyes, drawing up the details of that particular spell from the dregs of her mind.

"The _Reliqua Magicis_ is a spell utilised by Mediwizards and Mediwitches to examine the consistency of any residue — magical in origin or not — left upon their patients, when they are examined," Lily dutifully explained. The eyes of her listeners lit up in understanding. "The results gained from the spell are more often than not consistent and comprehensive, allowing the user to determine if further, specialised action will need to be performed upon the subject in question."

Dumbledore nodded, stepping out of the little conversational recess he'd put himself in. "Indeed. Thank you, Lily."

The woman briefly ducked her head in reply. She returned her gaze to the black-haired boy, looking as if she was experiencing a similar feeling to her husband.

"If I may?" he asked, raising his wand and turning towards Madam Pomphrey. The Mediwitch nodded in acquiescence, stepping back from the three hospital beds and giving the Headmaster some room to work with.

Dumbledore slowly ran his wand over the three unconscious forms, muttering esoteric incantations under his breath. His brow furrowing with concentration, the old wizard moved the short stick of wood in a head-to-toe movement over the slumbering individuals, paying particular attention to a patch of what looked like a blue-black liquid on the wild-haired girl's dirty jumper.

The other people in the room waited patiently as the Headmaster performed his magical inspection, his eyebrows rising significantly higher the longer the examination took.

By the end of it, the bushy caterpillars of white hair upon the old man's brows had disappeared well into his hairline; rarely seen confusion and outright shock etched into his weathered face.

James shared another glance with Lily.

His question, though unasked, was obvious — _just_ what _had shaken the greatest wizard of modern times so much?_

The red-headed woman could only shrug helplessly; she being as clueless as her husband.

"How peculiar. Very peculiar indeed," Dumbledore finally concluded, raising his wand again to extract the residue of a dark, viscous liquid from the girl's pullover.

"Headmaster?" Remus asked after a few seconds of expectant silence, leaning slightly towards the man in question. "What did you find?"

But Dumbledore only shook his head minutely; his demeanour distracted and completely preoccupied with his racing thoughts.

"I shall take this liquid back to my office for further examination — it's exhibiting properties that even _I_ have rarely seen before, and the last time I did was quite far in the past…"

The old wizard trailed off into silence, a pensive expression on his face, as his listeners were forced to look to each other in a vain search for answers; answers that would hopefully resolve their many questions.

"Where did you say you found the three, Lily?" he enquired suddenly, turning to face the tall witch. She jumped slightly, having been engrossed with her own errant line of thinking.

"We found them in one of the Department of Mysteries' Artefact Storage Rooms — next to the Time Room, just off the Death Chamber," she replied, her gaze falling — seemingly of its own volition — to rest upon the black-haired boy sleeping on the bed next to her.

"The man and the girl were out cold when myself, my daughter and Neville walked into the room. He—" Lily nodded down to the form she was standing next to. Everyone's eyes eventually drifted to the slumbering figure. "—was awake and, amazingly, managed to briefly talk with Rosalyn before joining his companions in unconsciousness. Oh, what was his name, dear?"

Rosalyn rubbed her eyes tiredly. "He said…he said his name was Harry—" she unsuccessfully managed to suppress a very wide yawn. James felt the exhaustion he'd been pushing back for the last few hours creep into his mind. "Harry Potter."

Absolute bafflement — and not insignificant amounts of scepticism, along with hints of incredulity — promptly manifested in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts.

"Harry _Potter,_ did you say?" Dumbledore inquired, intrigued. The girl nodded in reply, trying and failing to stifle another yawn.

Going by his expression, Remus was as dubious James himself. Lily's was unreadable; her emerald eyes having fixed again on the small, black-haired figure next to her.

The Headmaster turned to look at the brown-eyed man. "Well, James? Is there a _Harry Potter_ anywhere in your ancestral line?"

"No, Headmaster, not that I know of," he responded, glancing with concern at his wife again. "I'd have to check again when I'm able to go to the Manor — it's been a rather long time since I last looked at the tapestry, anyways. Although—"

Lily smoothly picked up his sentence when he paused for breath, her fingers fiddling absently with a bedsheet as she recalled information from her mind.

"—we did have an idea of naming a child of ours — if we had a boy instead of a girl — Harry. Though, as we did not, that notion fell on the wayside of things."

A light seemed to appear in Dumbledore's eyes, as if he'd finally made the connection between two previously unlinked subjects.

He nodded appreciatively, rising slowly and starting to amble towards the oaken double doors.

"Okay. Thank you, James and Lily, for the information. I think it'd be best if we retire for the night, as after the ordeal in the Ministry—"

Rosalyn let out her third yawn of the past twenty minutes, thereby unconsciously supporting Dumbledore's statement. James' lips twitched into a slight grin.

"—we are all, understandably, exhausted. Madam Pomphrey, if you'd keep me updated on our visitors' status throughout the night…?"

Madame Pomphrey ducked her head in acquiescence, already turning to Heal her patients' injuries and placing Monitoring Charms over them.

"Then I shall see you tomorrow, and I bid you all good night," Dumbledore concluded, striding out of the heavy doors to the Hospital Wing in a swirl of baby-blue-and-purple robes.

The other occupants of the expansive room eventually copied the Headmaster's example, Remus wandering into Madam Pomphrey's office, going through her personal Floo — at the silver-haired woman's invitation — to his residence in Yorkshire, near to the opulent yet modest home of the Potters. James and Rosalyn exited the Hospital Wing in the same manner as the Chief Warlock, though without the admittedly impressive exhibition of clothing aerodynamics.

Lily lingered behind, a waved hand encouraging her husband and daughter on when they saw that the red-headed woman wasn't following them.

Within a short amount of time, she was alone in the Hospital Wing, only the quiet inhalations of its unconscious occupants permeating the still silence.

The elder female Potter looked, once again, towards the boy — who still deep in the realm of Morpheus — and finally gave in to the urge to brush the black strands out of his now-clean forehead, thus revealing what looked like a very faint, thin, lightning-bolt-shaped scar.

"Wherever did you come from, Harry?" she whispered, her voice a mere decibel above the wind blowing quietly outside the ancient walls of Hogwarts; continuing to stroke the inky tresses beneath her fingers.

The sleeping boy seemed to lean into her touch, his face shifting ever-so-slightly to increase the contact.

She sighed.

There was, of course, no reply.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**_The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 19/06/1996…_ **

The first thing that Harry noticed, when he awoke from the deepest slumber of his life, was the smell.

A heady scent of what unmistakably was disinfectant, ever-present within the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts — a fact that Harry only knew by virtue of him having spent multiple nights in the mentioned room.

Blearily blinking open his eyes, Harry took in the blurry expanse of white that was duly presented to him. He blinked again, a low groan escaping his parched throat, as his right hand blindly fumbled on the bedside table for his rounded frame glasses.

Upon realising that the surface didn't hold the item he was looking for — along with being devoid of any other objects — Harry craned his neck around the room, searching for his elusive spectacles.

The high tones of birds twittering in the fresh morning air drifted into the expansive room, gently breaking the still silence with a beautiful rendition of natural sounds. Soft beams of golden sunlight shone through the large, arched windows, illuminating the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts in all of its colourless glory. That smell of antiseptic was still present, along with the slightest whiff of some flowery scent that Harry could not fully identify but thought was quite pleasant indeed.

He sat up further, glimpsing the forms of Hermione and Sirius in their respective beds — his best friend was as awake as him, while his godfather was still out like a light.

After realising that his glasses had been placed on the bedside table to the _left_ — Harry had rolled his eyes at his own stupidity in failing to check both sides of his bed — he glanced over at Hermione, who was rubbing her eyes groggily as she also sat up in her bed.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" he enquired quietly, hesitant to disturb the peaceful silence any further. Hermione stretched her arms above her head, pleasantly surprised at the lack of expected pain that flowed into her brain.

"Mm-hmm. Yeah, I'm good. How about you?" she replied in an equally low voice, her gaze briefly falling upon a slumbering Sirius before returning to her green-eyed best friend.

He nodded in response, finally placing the black, wire-thin frames upon his nose. Concern in his gaze, his eyes perused the other teenager, searching for any visible discomfort or blatant injuries.

Upon seeing that there were none, Harry's head fell somewhat as guilt made itself present in his voice. "I'm—I'm sorry, Hermione. I should've listened to you before running off to the Ministry—"

Hermione cut him off gently, leaning back against her pillows. "Yes, Harry, you probably should have taken a moment to think. But I understand why you did it — you thought that Sirius was in trouble and you, being your migraine-inducing but no less endearing self, rushed off to assist him."

Harry opened his mouth, intending to object against her statement.

But he was interrupted by the entrance of a person who, undoubtedly, was Madam Pomphrey, yet the _navy-blue_ robes sitting beneath a white apron and the distinct lack of wrinkles in her face made Harry doubt his recognition of the witch.

"Oh, good. You are awake now," she said, marching briskly towards Hermione's bedside only because his best friend's bed was closer to the old matron's office than his. "Are you experiencing any pain, dear? Discomfort, headaches, anything of the sort?"

"N-no, ma'am," Hermione almost squeaked in reply, surprised at the Mediwitch's uncharacteristically speedy entrance and no-nonsense attitude. The individual in question gestured sharply with her wand, nodding her head minutely at the various magical readings that were presented to her.

Madame Pomphrey then turned her _brown_ gaze upon Harry — a fact which led to the boy doubting his previous assessment even further — as she approached him with the same efficiency with which she had entered the room.

"And you? Aches, soreness of any type?" she asked not unkindly, again making acute movements of her wand over his sitting form.

"I'm rather surprised you're even _asking_ me that, Madame Pomphrey, given the amount of time I've spent in the Hospital Wing," Harry joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

He felt disheartened that the grey-haired Mediwitch did not react in the way he was expecting.

Harry also noticed with not a little shock that she appeared to not even _recognise_ him; the glimmer of almost fond exasperation normally present in her eyes distinctly absent.

There was a short, awkward silence, in which Harry was unsure whether he should attempt to crack another joke or remain silent in his embarrassment.

Hermione's brows were furrowed; the expression on her face indicating that she was thinking very hard about something.

Madame Pomphrey did not appear to be as affected as Harry, moving over to Sirius to perform another flurry of diagnostic charms and spells.

Once her task was complete — the still unconscious, dark-haired man had not reacted to her presence in any way, other than producing what sounded like a snort and mumbling incoherently about… poppies? Harry wasn't too sure. — the Mediwitch flicked her wand again.

Small bottles and glass vials clinked loudly as a trolley laden with the mentioned items serenely rolled towards her.

"Okay. Your diagnostics are looking good," she said, nodding once in the direction of Harry and Hermione respectively.

The raven-haired teen, however, still hadn't fully recovered from the fact that she didn't recognise him.

"Your blood pressures are back to normal levels, internal body temperatures within acceptable parameters and your white and red blood cell count are now in high enough quantities that I am satisfied. However, your magical reserves haven't fully refilled — as a result, you may experience a bit more sluggishness and fatigue than usual. When _he_ wakes up—"

The matron tipped her head at Sirius, who had somehow flipped onto his front as his right arm dangled off the side of the bed. The sound of loud snoring emanating from him told Harry that his godfather was still fast asleep.

"—make sure to tell him to take it easy, alright? I will take a look at that magical burn scar later to see how it is progressing. Understood?

Hermione nodded, ardently committing the information to memory.

Harry, however, did not — his eyes had glazed over vaguely around the point that the matron had mentioned 'body temperature'; his attention to her little speech quickly waning completely after that point in time.

"Mm. Right. I will check on you three again in a few hours, then," she continued, her eyes briefly flicking — Harry thought, though, again, he wasn't too sure — to the space on the left side of his bed.

"Thanks, Madame Pomphrey," Hermione thanked, a quick, discreet glare resulting in a slightly comatose Harry immediately copying the bushy-haired Gryffindor.

Madame Pomphrey tipped her head once in response. The grey-haired matron then spun on her heel, marching back towards her office with the same spryness with which she had entered the room.

Her trolley of medical supplies and potions silently rolled after her retreating form.

Within a short amount of time, Harry, Hermione and Sirius — who, unsurprisingly, was still not awake — were alone in the Hospital Wing, the heavy silence of before falling upon the expansive room once again.

Harry leaned back against his pillows, savouring the peaceful quiet as his mind whirled chaotically.

Unfortunately for him, it did not last for a long time.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**_The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 19/06/1996…_ **

"Aha! So your name _is_ Harry Potter. How interesting," commented a disembodied voice, no more than a metre from his left ear.

The boy in question let out a _very_ loud shriek, literally jumping out of his bed and directly onto the cold, _hard_ stone floor.

"Oh, did I scare you? I'm so sorry," the voice continued apologetically.

A head — a _floating_ head — materialised in the space on the other side of his bed. Long, copper-red hair flew askew as the person repositioned what obviously was an invisibility cloak onto their shoulders.

Emerald green eyes — the exact same shade as that of the teenager currently lying on the floor — stared back at Harry. "I didn't mean to startle you. Honest."

Harry placed a hand on his chest, attempting to calm his racing heart.

He was marginally successful.

"P-please don't…don't do that again," he requested, shakily climbing to his feet and glancing over at Hermione.

Though her face was perfectly straight, her shoulders were shaking as the girl tried and failed to suppress her amusement.

The _traitor._

Harry glared at her, finally standing up and leaning against the rail of the bed behind him.

He turned back to the levitating head, whose own lips were twitching slightly.

"Hey, uh…Rosalyn, right? Could you remove that cloak, please?" Harry asked, staring at the space where he expected her body to be. "It's just a bit…jarring to speak to a levitating head."

She immediately whipped off the item in question; the garment flowing off her form like a watery liquid of the smoothest silver.

Now with the cloak removed, Harry could see that she was dressed in casual, Muggle attire — dark blue jeans along with a simple grey cardigan, over a light purple blouse.

"Yes, the name's Rosalyn. Nice to meet you again," she replied, tying up her red hair in a quick ponytail.

Harry nodded. "You too, Rosalyn."

She then looked curiously at Hermione, who took the presented chance to introduce herself.

"Uh, hi," his best friend said, looking up from the bedspread beneath her fingers. Rosalyn smiled at her, securing her lengthy tresses in a hairband. "I'm, um, Hermione."

"Pleasure to meet you, Hermione."

"How long were you standing there, if you don't mind me asking?" Hermione asked hesitantly, uncomfortable with the awkward silence that had fallen. When the strangest and most intense feeling of déjà vu she'd ever felt briefly drifted through her mind, she pushed the mental notion away dismissively.

Rosalyn shrugged, sitting down on a free bed and gathering her invisibility cloak in her lap. The upper parts of her legs consequently disappeared, which resulted in Harry having to continually remind himself that she did, in fact, possess a midsection.

"Only for a few minutes — I snuck in here just as you started to wake up," she replied, muffling a small yawn behind her right hand. Leaning forward slightly, her eyes suddenly lit up. "So, tell me about yourselves. Where did you come from? How did you get into the Department of Mysteries? What is your—"

"Rosalyn Potter! Do _not_ overwhelm our visitors with your questions, young lady. They've only just woken up, after all," a female voice interrupted from the doorway, somehow sounding firm yet fondly exasperated at the same time.

When Harry glanced over, it was to see the figure of a certain, auburn-haired individual who he'd honestly thought he would never get to see.

Lily Potter — the teenager only recognised the approaching figure by virtue of him having looked at magical photographs of his late parents many, _many_ times — strode into the Hospital Wing, a marginally annoyed expression on her face. "What have I told you — multiple times, may I add — about conversational tact?"

The girl shrugged again, completely unrepentant. "What can I say? It's just my irrepressibly inquisitive nature at work here."

"Which you got from me, Rose, so you'd better be grateful," another voice put in — and judging by the timbre of it, the speaker was male. The head of James Potter poked itself through the oaken double doors, his tall body following soon after. "Just imagine where you would be if you hadn't! Oh, Merlin, the _horror_."

Rosalyn crossed her arms, sticking her tongue out in a very mature fashion.

The older witch rolled her eyes, her gaze falling upon Harry and Hermione.

She nodded her head at them. "Good morning, you two. My name is Lily Potter, this here is my husband, James, and I suspect you already know Rose. Did you both sleep well?"

Harry, however, was unable to reply — he had frozen; his expression like a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching vehicle.

Though she too was undoubtedly shocked at the Potters' apparent return from the dead, Hermione managed to reply for both herself and her best friend. "Y-yes, we did, thank you. I am Hermione Granger, ma'am, and his name is Harry…Potter, too?" Her voice had taken an uncertain lilt by the end of her sentence.

Lily decided to ignore the small fact that the dark-haired boy apparently possessed the same last name as she did.

The red-headed woman waved her hand dismissively, wearing a slight, bemused smile. "No, no, none of that _ma'am_ business. It makes me feel very old. Call me Lily, instead."

James nodded, an easy grin on his face. "Me too. You'll have to call me James — or Mr Potter, if that takes your fancy."

"Okay, will do," Hermione acquiesced easily.

There was a short, comfortable silence. Hermione fidgeted with her hands, biting her lip uncertainly as if preventing herself from performing some action.

Lily noticed this almost as quickly as Harry did.

"If you've got a question, feel free to ask," she said, taking a seat at the foot of Harry's bed. The teenager's rather vacant gaze had tracked after her form like a hawk locked onto its prey.

The bushy-haired girl's bottom lip disappeared between her teeth; her tangled tresses absently being twisted between two elegant fingers. Harry eventually managed to stop admir— _observing_ Hermione's rather dexterous digits. "Uh, are you sure? My question might be…uhm, a bit personal…"

He had rarely, if ever, seen such hesitant behaviour to this degree in his usually very inquisitive best friend.

Lily smiled encouragingly. "Go ahead, Hermione. I'm all ears."

An intriguing procession of expressions flitted across the girl's face in under a second, ranging from blatant curiosity to outright confusion.

"How are you — and you, James — still alive?" Hermione babbled, very rapidly, as if she had given up on trying to find an alternate way of wording her question.

A minor frown wormed its way onto Lily's face. James' expression lost some of its joviality, and Rosalyn let her red hair curtain her face slightly.

She hastened on to justify the enquiry at the expressions on her listeners' faces; her words amalgamating into a near incoherent rush of sound.

"I'm sorry, Lily—it—it's just—oh, blast, how do I say this—it's a well-known fact that the elder Potters didn't—didn't survive the Godric's Hollow incident, yet you obviously _did_ because _here you are_ and I don't understand it _one bit_ —"

Lily raised a hand, cutting off Hermione's increasingly disjointed speech.

"No, don't worry, Hermione. It's a valid question," she said, a _look_ preventing her husband from interrupting.

James shut his mouth, his gaze unconsciously falling upon the slumbering form of Sirius, who was beginning to show hints of possibly awakening. Finally.

"I'll tell you how…how we survived that fateful night."

Hermione wrung her hands, a guilty expression on her face, but remained silent.

Emerald green eyes becoming somewhat vacant, the woman turned to gaze out a nearby window. James silently took up position behind his wife, resting a supportive hand upon her shoulders. Rosalyn drew her legs to her chest and buried her face in her knees, brilliant-copper-red hair splaying out upon them.

Taking a deep breath, Lily began her tale; her husband seamlessly taking over when she was paused for breath.

"This story begins on a dark night, roughly fifteen years in the past…"

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**_The Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 11/08/1981…_ **

"He _took Sirius."_

_No one in the room misunderstood who James was talking about._

_The man continued to pace the breadth of the Headmaster's office, grinding almost visible marks into the stone floor with each step he took._

_Lily's lips pursed, her eyes alight with sadness and sympathy._

_Little Rosalyn, asleep in her mother's arms, tossed and turned slightly; unaware of what her parents were discussing._

" _Why would V—Vol—_ You-Know-Who _take Sirius specifically, though?" Dedalus Diggle — a new member to the Order; a small, thin man with slightly sagging skin — asked. His burgundy top hat fell into his eyes; the excitable man pushing it out of the way, irritated._

_James did not reply, having strode over to a nearby bookcase to, seemingly, peruse the tomes it held. Only Lily could see how his shoulders subtly shook with barely repressed fury, however._

" _Voldemort maintained the belief that Sirius possessed highly significant information," Dumbledore put in, rubbing a weary hand against his wrinkled forehead. The Leader of the Light then dropped his arm, fixing his cerulean blue eyes upon the newest associate of the Order to the Phoenix, whose face had lost some of its healthy pallor. "Information that undoubtedly would have benefited the forces of the Dark in this conflict. So, Voldemort dispatched his Death Eaters to capture and, presumably, interrogate him for said information."_

" _Severus, have you received any word from Tom?" he enquired after a few moments' silence, turning towards a slightly darkened corner of the room._

_The black-robed man stepped out of his little recess, an ever-present sneer upon his sallow face._

" _No, I have not, Headmaster. The Dark Lord has not explicitly said anything to me," Severus drawled. He took a dramatic pause; Lily rolling her eyes at her former friend's unnecessary theatrics. "However, recently he seemed to be in a better mood than usual — during these past few days, fewer Death Eaters have been treated to the wonderful embrace of the Cruciatus Curse."_

_She winced marginally at the casual mention of such a horrible spell._

" _Alright, Severus. Thank you," Dumbledore replied. The spy nodded, slinking back into the shadows of his corner._

" _We need to rescue him," James spoke up suddenly, determination in his voice._

_He spun on his heel, fixing his brown gaze upon Dumbledore, who was sitting behind his cluttered desk with wrinkled hands steepled before a very bearded chin._

" _He_ needs _us — the more time that Sirius is in Voldemort's grasp—" the Order members present collectively flinched at the Dark Lord's name, a few of the less weathered individuals letting out shrieks of alarm. James resolutely ignored them, keeping his eyes fixed on the Headmaster. "—the longer that he shall be tortured for. So, we need to plan a rescue for him."_

_Snape snorted disparagingly, crossing his thin arms and stepping into the light. The sneer became more prominent on his face._

_Lily felt a sinking feeling in her gut._

" _Are you suicidal, Potter, or just a moronic imbecile?" he spat sarcastically, the indifferent tone to his voice suggesting that the Potions Professor didn't care one whit if the Potter patriarch was the latter or the former._

_James' wand arm twitched in response._

" _You want to storm an outpost of the most powerful Dark Lord of all time himself, in a pitiful attempt of rescuing your little friend?_ Ha! _Do you even know where Black has been taken? No? Wow, how surprising. No doubt a direct result of that asinine, foolhardy Gryffindor brain of yours—"_

_Her husband visibly held himself back from attacking the dour man; only fear of Lily's disapproving stare preventing him from marching over to Snape's corner and forcibly reconstructing his hooked nose._

_So, instead, he fired back his own snide reply. "_ You _would know, though, wouldn't you, Snivellus? After all, it's your_ master _who took him in the first place—"_

_The Order watched on with slightly wide eyes; the verbal duels between the two having become somewhat legendary in occurrence by then._

_Snape snarled, his right hand flying towards his wand—_

_Rosalyn suddenly awoke, opening her small mouth to cry out her displeasure—_

"Enough _, James, Severus!" Dumbledore thundered, annoyance and the first hints of anger on his face. Lily bounced and rocked the child in her arms, cooing quietly, and her daughter eventually went back to sleep. "Now is not the time for such arguments! We cannot afford to bicker among ourselves in such a tumultuous period as this."_

_The combatants glared balefully at each other before reluctantly disengaging — James silently returned to his vigil, again inspecting a bookcase, and Snape retreated into his darkened section of the room in a dramatic swirl of black robes._

" _Now, James, you know that — despite how Severus tactlessly worded it — a direct attack on one of Voldemort's strongholds would not be advisable," Dumbledore continued, staring at her husband. Though scowling heavily in annoyance, he sharply nodded._

" _Alright. If there are no other items for discussion…?" he trailed off, glancing around his Expanded office. No one spoke up. "Then I propose that we adjourn this meeting for now and reconvene at a later point in time."_

_With their leader's dismissal, the Order of the Phoenix rose to their feet, choosing to exit the Headmaster's office in a variety of ways._

_Most opted for the simple option of walking through the secure Floo terminal, quietly whispering their destinations as they stepped into its hearth — suspicion was rife; too many Order members had found their homes and families mysteriously attacked by Death Eaters after said members had announced their targeted places a bit too loudly._

_Others chose to stroll out the ornate oaken door, proceeding down the revolving staircase and eventually out of Hogwarts' iron-wrought front gates._

_Of course, there were the exceptions to this as well._

_Mad-Eye Moody, in particular, chose the rather humorous method of whipping out a study looking broom from Merlin knew where and mounting it, zooming out into the night through Dumbledore's conveniently open window._

_Lily had also stood up, rearranging Rose to sit upon her hip. The one-and-a-half-year-old had — once again — awoken, and the red-headed woman had given up on trying to get the girl to go back to sleep._

_James wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders as they silently strode towards the Floo; malachite green flames briefly engulfing their forms before they were whisked away to Potter Cottage._

_The scowl on his face had not abated one bit in the time it took for the Potters to return to their home._

" _I don't like this, Lily," he stated outright, brown gaze briefly scanning the living room of their residence. The medium-sized room, its carpeted floor a warm mural of homely browns and its walls a soft beige, dominated by various pieces of worn-from-use furniture, was expectedly empty of other occupants. James then closed his eyes, silently reaching out to the wards of the property._

_They pinged back a soft green — how colours somehow played into the status of magical protections, the tall man had no clue — indicating that they were intact and hadn't been tampered with._

" _Me too, James," she replied, shifting Rose further up her hip just as the small girl laid her head on her mother's shoulder, yawning and scrunching her face up cutely. Lily's green eyes compassionately met his as she strolled into the hallway, intending to go upstairs. "I know how you feel about the situation."_

_James felt inordinately grateful that his wife understood his feelings; that he would not have to make voice to them._

_Anger, at the fact that Voldemort had dared to capture one of his closest friends. Frustration, for both Dumbledore's and the Order's unwillingness to attempt a rescue of Sirius. Intense dislike — dimmed somewhat by time but still very much present — of the existence of a certain, greasy-haired git._

_And, above all, mind-numbing fear for the life of his captured best friend, and by extension the continued safety of his wife and child._

_He stopped the red-headed figure at the foot of the large staircase by wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. She silently turned in his grasp, placing her forehead into her favourite crook located on the left side of his neck, closing her eyes. A tiny, delicate hand — despite its owner being distinctly and deeply asleep — somehow landed on the front of his robes, clenching tightly._

_James too shut his eyes, his head drooping as he inhaled slightly; savouring the smell of fresh roses, slight antiseptic and jasmine that drifted into his nose._

_With the two pillars of his very existence held within the protective embrace of his arms, the Potter patriarch made a vow to himself — he would_ not _let Voldemort, the Dark Lord, or whatever pseudonym the creature was using, harm his family; utilising any and all resources at his disposal to ensure their wellbeing._

_Even if it cost him his life._

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**_Potter Cottage, Godric's Hollow, 30/9/1981…_ **

_There still was no word of Sirius._

_His best friend, who had recently been taken by the forces of Voldemort, had been held captive for a little over two months now — no doubt being tortured daily for information on the Potters' whereabouts._

_The only reason — in James' mind, at least — why he and his family hadn't been attacked in their home was Sirius' ardent and unwavering refusal to give in; allowing him to resist the Dark Lord's advances in extracting the information he sought from the last Black's brain._

_The black-haired man, while undoubtedly distressed over his long-term friend's (presumed) increasingly bleak condition, was eternally grateful that his family had remained safe._

_In a fit of momentary rebellion, James had been tempted to launch a rescue attempt himself, regardless of what Dumbledore and rational logic dictated — but, at that exact moment, his daughter had looked up at him from her position on the floor with large, soulful, green eyes, and raised her small arms towards him._

_As if she knew what he was thinking._

_He had immediately picked up the toddler — who clenched a fist on the front of his robes, placing her head on his shoulder when her legs left the ground — and his half-formed plan to retrieve his best friend evaporated like smoke in the wind; the terrifying possibility of not seeing his dear little girl again too great to dismiss._

_Upon noticing the re-prioritisation of the individuals in his life, he sent a mental apology to Sirius, wishing that the man in question was here, in Godric's Hollow, with him._

_The Potter patriarch let out a melancholic sigh, absently applying slick polish to the handle of his trusty broomstick, which was balanced precariously across his lap — a well-used Falcon Mk III, equipped with custom moulded foot stirrups and a windswept design to its twigs and bristles._

_In addition to the worry and fear for Sirius' health — which had only increased as larger amounts of time went by without news of the man's retrieval or escape from Voldemort's clutches — James was missing the Manor._

_He would have greatly preferred to continue residing in the larger, much more spacious house, had Dumbledore not 'subtly' encouraged them to move, under the justification that they needed to go into hiding under more potent protections._

_According to reports which James had reluctantly deemed accurate, the Dark Lord's forces had paid a lot more attention to him and Lily recently — even going so far as to probe around the outskirts of Potter Manor's formidable ward matrix, hinting at a possible, future attack on the residence._

_Thus with pre-emptive intentions in mind, the Potter family had migrated to their more cosy residence in the sleepy town of Godric's Hollow, upon which the legendary Fidelius Charm had been placed._

_The only reason why they hadn't simply placed the Charm on Potter Manor was that the defensive runic arrays of the ancestral residence were 'full', for lack of a better term, resulting in it being impossible for such a powerful spell to be sufficiently grounded there._

_It was at this moment in time that said spell decided to make its presence known again to the occupants of the Potter Cottage._

_Something briefly flashed in the corner of James' eye; the brown-eyed man snapping his gaze to the nearest window._

_Outside was illuminated beautifully by a sheen of soft, golden light; the Fidelius charm flaring into the visible spectrum as some component of it was irrevocably solidified._

_A dull_ boom — _much like a hammer striking a gong, and with a foreboding sense of finality — echoed eerily into James' ears._

_Lily shot into the room; her wand held in one hand as the other clutched a scared-looking Rose to her body. "James, are you okay? Did you see that?"_

_His wand also drawn, the mentioned individual stood up and marched over to the window as his broom clattering uncaringly to the floor. "I'm alright, Lily. Yeah, I did see it — what does it mean, though?"_

_Her brows furrowed in concentration, green eyes half-closed as his wife tried to recall details from her mind._

" _Fidelius charm…faint, deep, gong-like sound…soft, yellow light…come on, Lily, come o—"_

_Lily's eyes suddenly flew open, outright horror and shock held within them as her wand hand rose of its own accord to cover her gaping mouth._

_James stared confusedly — and not with a little concern — at the shell-shocked woman. "What? What is it, Lily?"_

_Tears streaming down her cheeks, Lily silently stepped forward to embrace her husband; Rosalyn automatically starting to cry upon seeing her mother deeply upset._

_He could only hug his wife back as he waited for her to regain her composure; whispering comforting platitudes as his hands moved in soothing gestures upon her back._

_It was a short while until Lily was able to speak again._

" _The—" a sob ripped itself out her throat. James felt the worry in his gut rocket right into anxiety and apprehension. "The Fidelius f-flaring like that—it—it means that the Secret has been Sealed. The Charm can't be undone now, James, which means Sirius—" a deep, shuddering breath, "—is dead."_

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**_The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 19/06/1996…_ **

A sombre silence soon fell after Lily stopped speaking.

It was promptly broken by a decidedly alive Sirius yawning himself awake — At last! Harry had started to think that his godfather would sleep through the entire morning — and slowly sitting up in his bed.

"Morning, James, Lily," greeted the black-haired man sleepily, stretching his arms above his head. The mentioned individuals blinked out of their subdued stupors, bemusedly waving back at the awakening figure.

And then Sirius realised just who he had spoken to.

" _James!"_ he exclaimed, his eyes going wide with shock as he dived at the brown-eyed man.

Well, _attempted_ to dive — Sirius's feet, still caught under his covers, failed to find sufficient purchase with the ground as he abruptly swung his legs off of his bed.

Harry's godfather consequently fell to the hard, tiled floor in a tangled heap of white sheets and muttered curses.

A smirk appeared of its own volition on James' mouth. Lily snorted reflexively, surreptitiously wiping tears out of her eyes. Rosalyn and Hermione both giggled, amused at Sirius' antics.

And Harry shielded his eyes with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand resting on each temple, highly embarrassed on his godfather's behalf.

Sirius somehow managed to stand up, freeing himself of his soft bindings in a flurry of flailing limbs and increasingly colourful profanities.

Thus with the bed sheet restraints ceasing their hindering effect on him, Sirius lunged at James and wrapped him into a tight embrace.

James, nonplussed and not a little perplexed at the black-haired man's reaction, hesitantly patted him on the back.

"Oh, Prongs—you're alive—thank Merlin—" babbled Sirius, pulling back to gaze wondrously at James. The recipient of his scrutiny stared right back, hopeful yet complete disbelief starting to become apparent as James realised who the incoherent person looked awfully similar to.

The Potter patriarch then attempted to extricate himself from the other man's surprisingly strong grip, doing an awkward backwards shuffle to try and transmit his intentions.

The endeavour failed completely; Sirius simply stepping forwards every time that James took a pace back.

He sent a helpless glance towards Lily, who, with her arms crossed and green eyes sparkling, looked incredibly amused at his plight.

Eventually, she took pity upon her husband.

"Come on, let's get you a seat," she instructed in her calm Healer voice, gently but firmly taking hold of the recently awakened man's arms and removing them from James' shoulders.

Sirius, in response, latched onto the red-headed woman like a leech, rambling incoherently about her still being on the mortal plane of existence.

It was James' turn to look amused as Lily had to deal with the five feet and eleven inches of blubbering mess that was leaning against her shoulder.

Fortunately, the black-haired man disengaged his arms after a few seconds. Stepping back, he abruptly rubbed his eyes as if what they were reporting to his brain was incorrect and highly fictitious.

"Ho—how can this be?" Sirius asked in an amazed yet completely bewildered tone. The expression on his face indicated that he thought he was in a dream—a very detailed one, but still a dream nonetheless.

"I believe that I have a viable explanation."

The voice of one Albus Dumbledore echoed from the entrance to the Hospital Wing. As everyone's gazes snapped in that direction, the old wizard casually strolled further into the room, fixing his gaze upon the only unknown individual in the room.

"Mr Sirius Black, I presume?" he enquired.

At the man's eventual nod, James harshly sucked in a breath as Lily's face went white.

Dumbledore ignored this, Conjuring a baby blue chintz armchair and sinking back into it. "I am Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Mr Black. If you would all please take a seat, I shall elaborate on my conjecture."

The other people present sat down on the nearest hospital bed at an inviting sweep of his hand.

Waiting until they were comfortable, the Headmaster then began to speak.

The fact that he had enacted some rather strong Privacy Charms before doing so informed James that the ensuing conversation would probably be quite significant indeed.

"You have, undoubtedly, observed that there are a few major divergences in your collective recollection of certain events."

Dumbledore's statement had not been directed at any specific individual. As such, everyone nodded their heads in assent.

"While quite a strange occurrence indeed, such an event—statistically speaking—occurs much more regularly than one would expect. It could be nothing but mere happenstance; a coincidental incident no more noteworthy than two individuals, who know each other quite well, happening upon a simultaneous convergence in a completely random place at some arbitrarily random time. Intriguingly, a recent Muggle study into the phenomenon known as the 'Mandela effect' could be the culprit at work here—"

Lily cleared her throat politely, aware of the Headmaster's tendency to ramble on unnecessary tangents when discussing thought-provoking subjects.

Dumbledore cut himself off, a slight, apologetic smile on his weathered face.

"But I digress. When I examined this substance—" Dumbledore slowly pulled a small tube containing a small amount of some viscous, pitch-black liquid from the vast swathes of his extravagant robes. Hermione stared at the test tube; an inkling of possible recognition along with healthy amounts of déjà vu floating through her mind. "—I found it to possess the very same consistency and molecular make-up as that of the liquid that features in the Cimmerian Basin, stored within the depths of the Department of Mysteries."

A light appeared in Hermione's eyes as the girl finally made the connection. "Oh! Are you talking about a pool filled with a black liquid, surrounded by a low stone wall?"

The Headmaster sent an approving nod towards the teenager, though he looked slightly alarmed at how she was aware of the not-well-known item in question.

Hermione beamed upon receiving the Headmaster's praise.

"Indeed. How did you know of the Basin, my dear?" he asked, looking towards her. "Such a detailed description is not common knowledge among those in the Wizarding World."

"Oh, Harry, Sirius and I all fell into it — or something awfully similar — back in the Ministry," Hermione replied flippantly, as if doing so was an everyday occurrence. She missed the looks of concern that the elder Potters directed towards her, as her own gaze was fixed upon the Headmaster.

Dumbledore blinked, momentarily nonplussed. "All right, then. Back to what I was saying," he continued after regaining his wits.

"As that particular artefact has been known to exhibit certain magical properties," Dumbledore took a slight pause, heightening the anticipation in the room, "upon further consideration, it has been speculated that the Basin is, actually, a portal to another plane of existence."

Silence.

Dead, shocked quiet permeated throughout the Hospital Wing, its occupants save one staring incredulously at Dumbledore. He did not react negatively to their disbelieving looks, instead choosing to smile benevolently at his audience.

"A portal, you say?" James bluntly clarified.

Dumbledore nodded benignly in reply.

"The pool is a portal, leading to other planes of existence. Are you saying, Headmaster, that these three—" the man gestured towards Harry, Hermione and Sirius respectively. "—came from another dimension?"

His question was tinged with large amounts of scepticism.

"No, it makes sense," said Harry, speaking for the first time in the presence of James, Lily and Dumbledore. He absently rubbed a hand against his forehead; his gaze directed down to his white bedspread.

He blindly pointed towards an arched window, the drapes of which were pulled back and varied ever so slightly in length, in addition to the curtain on the left also being a marginal shade lighter in colour than its counterpart.

"If this Madam Pomphrey was the one that I knew, she wouldn't tolerate such inconsistencies — in this case, those curtains' difference in length and colour," Harry explained, his eyes briefly darting up to the rest of the room.

Upon noticing its undivided attention on him, he flushed a slight red in embarrassment. "She—she's well-known for keeping things completely symmetrical and orderly. Anything else simply wouldn't do."

"You concluded that you were in a different reality from the status of _curtains?"_ Hermione said incredulously, not a little bemused as well.

The flush of before promptly returned to Harry's cheeks; the boy abashedly averting his gaze.

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. It seemed that her earlier reticence had largely disappeared. "Only you would do that. Don't ever change, Harry."

Rosalyn suddenly perked up from her position against the headboard of her hospital bed-turned-seat.

"So, you guys are from another dimension? How cool," she gushed, standing up and moving towards Harry's bed to plop herself down on it. Upon reaching her destination, she excitedly grabbed Harry's arm, questions spilling from her mouth.

The poor boy looked awfully surprised at her sudden proximity.

"What's the weather like there? What types of food is there? Do you have chocolate chip ice-cream in your dimension? How does the schooling system work? Oh! Please say you guys have _Quidditch_ —"

"Rose! Slow down, dear, you'll overwhelm him," Lily interjected, correctly identifying the slightly inundated expression on Harry's face. He sent a grateful glance towards her; the red-headed woman smiling warmly back in response.

The mentioned girl grimaced, squeezed his arm apologetically. "Sorry, Harry. I'll ask my questions more slowly."

Sirius' stomach decided to loudly make its current empty state known at that very moment.

Dumbledore chuckled, rising to his feet as he clapped his hands twice. A short, thin figure—dressed in an equally small uniform, which featured the emblems of the four Hogwarts Houses— _popped_ into existence at the Headmaster's feet.

"I dare say that some filling breakfast shall be the next item on the agenda, wouldn't you think?" he said.

The only reply he got was Sirius' stomach rumbling again. Everyone laughed.

"Mospy, if you would, please?"

The little House Elf grinned toothily up at the tall wizard. "Of course, Headmaster Dumbly-door, sir! I's be bringing good and healthy brekkie-fast for yous!"

She snapped her bony fingers and a waist-high metal trolley, mounted on silver wheels, materialised in the Hospital Wing.

It held an almost intimidating array of breakfast food — ranging from steaming sausages accompanied by pots of baked beans and fried tomatoes, to hash browns and ham-and-cheese omelettes, cooked exquisitely to a slightly golden tinge. Pitchers of water and—hopefully—orange juice sat upon the trolley's upper levels, alongside a mouth-watering display of fruit salads and yoghurts.

Dumbledore gestured towards the tempting display of sustenance, sending a grateful nod towards Mospy and thanking her for preparing the delicious feast.

"Feel free to help yourselves," he invited, multiple flicks of his knotted wand resulting in his preferred breakfast floating serenely towards him; a white plate helpfully materialising before the food could touch his hands.

Harry served himself a healthy portion of eggs, sausages and bacon as he thought upon the situation, taking a seat on the bed next to Hermione's as the girl was engaged in conversation by Rosalyn.

The brunette, though acting a tad reserved, haltingly replied to the redhead's prompting words, nibbling quietly on an apple.

If the Headmaster was correct — and the black-haired boy was highly doubtful that Dumbledore wasn't — then he, Sirius and Hermione had, indeed, travelled to another dimension, in which his parents had survived the dreadful night of Godric's Hollow.

He started to feel excitement at the prospect of finally getting to _know_ them; of learning their likes, dislikes, habits and hobbies.

And, in some small, nearly inaudible corner of his mind, feel the warmth of his mother's embrace.

_But what about Ron? And Neville? Ginny and Luna, too? How about the Death Eaters, and Voldemort? What about them?_

Deciding to be uncharacteristically selfish for once, he dismissed the thoughts of his friends and the dimension of his origin; choosing instead to savour the time he had in this plane of existence.

Lily turned from her conversation with James and Sirius to look at Harry, a mischievous smile upon her face. "So, Harry. I hear that you are interested in Quidditch, just like my quite possibly insane husband here?"

James dutifully protested but was soon distracted by Sirius enacting some tale — fathomable to only he and his one-person audience — with ardent and increasingly humorous gestures of his hands.

Feeling the stirrings of something undefinable in his chest, Harry hesitantly grinned back at the red-headed woman.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that…"

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 03/09/2020: Righto, third chapter has now been completed. Hope you enjoyed the read.  
> As mentioned in the A/N at the top of the chapter, I apologise in advance for any delays that may occur to my update rate.  
> Alright, that shall be all for now. See y'all next time.  
> Cheers,  
> Avaxius


	4. Of Sortings and Sandwiches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: 
> 
> Still don't own Harry Potter. Any OC's in this story are mine, though.
> 
> Author's Note:  
> Mm-kay. Another chapter for y'all. Thank you for all the reviews and comments on this story! I really appreciate it. :)
> 
> I am sorry for any delays that may come to my update schedule.
> 
> Alright, that shall be all for now. Stay safe, all of you.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**_The Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 22/06/1996…_ **

The Headmaster's office was doused into expectant silence as the Sorting Hat was placed upon Hermione's head.

His best friend was seated on a wooden, thin-legged stool; her legs daintily crossed at the ankles and her hands clasped in her lap. Her expression — what little of it that he had caught, before it had been buried beneath the Hat's woollen brim — was calm, composed, and seemingly without a worry in the world.

Only Harry himself, though, had seen the nervousness and anxiety in the set of her shoulders, the brief dart of her tongue to wet her lips, and the fleeting glance she had stolen towards him before her eyes had disappeared from sight.

He had tried to put on a brave front for her, but to be honest, he too was as scared as his best friend appeared to be.

After the events of three days' prior, Harry, Hermione and Sirius — along with James, Lily and Rosalyn — had all proceeded to the Headmaster's office, in order for the visiting teenagers to be Sorted.

It had been decided, over healthy servings of fruit salad and yoghurt, that he and his best friend would attend Hogwarts in the term starting on the first of September, 1996 — the equivalent of their sixth year, back in their old dimension. As a result, both individuals would need to be Sorted by the Hat resident to the Headmaster's office.

After all, according to Dumbledore and the item in question itself, no student had ever attended the illustrious school without being briefly put under the Sorting Hat's brim.

They had also decided to hold the event within the Headmaster's office, as no one present had seen why it would be necessary to subject Harry and Hermione to the curious and undivided scrutiny of the entire Hogwarts student population.

The main reason why the witch was nervous — and, coincidentally, the same reason why Harry himself possessed a slight case of the heebie-jeebies — was the slight chance that she would not be Sorted into Gryffindor, with her messy-haired best friend.

In hindsight, though, such worries proved themselves to be baseless.

The Sorting Hat opened its mouth — what really amounted to a tear in the brown material just above the brim, shaped by Merlin-knew-what magic into a vague mouth-like shape — and some occupants of the Headmaster's office unconsciously held their breath.

"She shall be placed in…" the Hat began in a gravelly voice.

The animated piece of cloth then took a dramatic pause.

Doing so greatly increased the chances of Hermione hexing it into non-existence in a fit of sheer spite.

Harry somehow ascertained this knowledge from the subtle twitching of the girl's hands.

" _GRYFFINDOR!"_

A deep, quiet exhale rushed out of his mouth; his shoulders slumping downward in relief. Polite clapping filled the air as Dumbledore removed the Sorting Hat from Hermione's head.

The newest addition to the House of the Lions also let out a shaky breath of relief, standing up to move towards Harry.

Rosalyn pouted, lightly slapping her thigh. "Rats! I was hoping you'd join me in Slytherin, but oh well. Guess it wasn't to be."

Harry turned to stare incredulously at his…counterpart? Friend? Sister? "You-you're a _Slytherin?"_

She met his gaze with a bemused and slightly defensive one of her own. "Well, yes, I am, Harry. Do you have a problem with that?"

Harry made an odd, flapping movement with his hands and his eyes squinted, as if he was attempting to visualise her as a member of the House of the Snakes.

Rosalyn, unfortunately, failed to discern any coherent meaning whatsoever from his seemingly random gesture.

"But…but…you're so _nice,"_ Harry stuttered confusedly, his expression declaring that the very concept of a _nice Slytherin_ was completely and utterly foreign to him.

The witch's lips twitched into a small grin. James shared an amused glance with Lily. Hermione rolled her eyes, turning slightly to inspect a nearby bookshelf, which had been packed to the brim with esoteric tomes.

"I know I am," the fifteen-year-old Slytherin replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

She raised her hands upon seeing her mother's expression.

"I kid, I kid. Thank you, Harry. Oh, and why are you so surprised at my House? Are there no friendly Slytherins in your dimension?"

The boy merely snorted, images of an albino blond head and an aristocratic, sneering face flashing through his mind.

"Well. If there are any, I haven't encountered them before," he replied, sticking his hands into his pockets.

Sirius took that opportunity to offer his own input.

"Going by the existence of certain, greasy-haired... _individuals,_ Harry _,_ I don't think anyone would blame you for thinking that."

He only smirked, completely unrepentant, in response to the half-glare that Lily sent his way.

James glanced towards Dumbledore, who was observing the proceedings with a twinkle in his cerulean blue eyes. "All right, then, Headmaster. If that will be all…?"

The Headmaster tipped his head in response, the sparkle increasing in luminosity. "Indeed, James. I shall speak to you all at a later point in time — please do make sure to enjoy your holidays. I daresay that they shall be quite interesting."

Fawkes, perched upon his golden stand in a corner of the old wizard's office, melodiously trilled his agreement.

James grinned slightly. With the centenarian wizard's invitation, he tossed a handful of Floo powder into the ornate fireplace sitting to his right.

" _Potter Manor!"_

"After you," bade the tall man, gesturing to the frolicking flames a similar shade of grassy green to his wife's eyes.

Lily smiled warmly at him, herding her daughter, Sirius, Harry and Hermione — she was, James had noticed at some point during the last hour, starting to treat the latter two as her own children — into the small, viridescent blaze before disappearing into it herself.

With a final nod sent towards Dumbledore, James followed after his family and stepped into the flaming hearth.

Soon, a still quiet fell in the Headmaster's office; broken only by the soft crackling of the fire.

The old wizard sighed.

He slowly made his way to his embroidered, leather-backed armchair; the idle mutterings and conversations of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts wafting into his ears.

When Dumbledore slumped back into his chair, Fawkes trilled again, swiftly swooping down to deftly steal a sherbet lemon from his human's bowl.

The Headmaster received a distinct sense of amusement and mischief in the sound that emanated from the cheeky phoenix thereafter.

His attention was drawn to a Snitch-sized ball of elaborate silver, serenely sitting within a small container on his cluttered desk. One which, had a Muggleborn seen it, could only be described as a quaint little egg cup.

The sphere of metal was pulsing periodically with a baby blue glow, denoting the fact that someone was rapidly approaching the entrance of his office.

By the time that Dumbledore had rearranged his features into benign benevolence, his hands clasped calmly before his seated form, the oaken door opposite his desk was pushed open.

The slightly wobbly figure of one Sybill Trelawney promptly wandered into his domain, her brown eyes magnified comically wide and an almost obnoxious aroma of herbs wafting in with the Divination Professor's entrance.

Before the Headmaster could even rise out of his seat, the woman drunkenly collapsed into an armchair — hastily conjured by Dumbledore himself.

"He…Headmaster Dumbledore," she slurred, eyes heavy-lidded and completely glazed over. Her hands, her elbows placed precariously upon the arms of her chair, flapped uselessly in the air as she tried to communicate some concept which Dumbledore was not privy to.

"Yes, my dear?" he enquired, staring with concern at the inebriated woman.

"I have come to you to…to…"

She tapered off into silence, her chin falling to her chest.

While it was not unusual for the Divination Professor to consume the occasional wine, this level of intoxication was quite rare indeed.

"Are you alright, Sybill? What appears to be the problem?"

The woman swelled to a proper seating position, her gaze momentarily clearing of alcoholic influence. The gaudy beads lying around her neck and wrists _clacked_ loudly with her sudden movement. "The planets—Oh, Albus, the _Stars_ —what they have predicted has finally come true…"

Trelawney trailed off again, her body slumping against the back of her chair as her head tipped limply to the side.

"Sybill? What has come true?" Dumbledore unsuccessfully asked, brow furrowed.

He was thoroughly unprepared for the answer that he was presented with.

From somewhere unidentifiable a heady sense of _foreboding_ sunk into the room, washing across its occupants and forcing them into stillness.

Even the previous leaders of Hogwarts, placed in eternal suspension within their animated portraits, were compelled to cease in their various activities.

Feeling bands of apprehension take form in his gut, Dumbledore noticed with a slight start that all sound had abruptly stopped registering in his brain.

Or, rather, there _was_ no sound for his mind to take in; instead, only a near-tangible, expectant silence.

Trelawney — heckled by many for being a fraudulent Diviner — seized up, her back arching off her royal purple seat as her hands gripped its arm rests tight enough for the whites of her knuckles to be visible.

The woman appeared to be wholly unaware of her situation as her eyes rolled back into her head.

A voice — far too hoarse and gravelly to be produced by human vocal cords — ripped itself out of her suddenly open mouth.

 _Last time,_ Dumbledore thought in some distant corner of his mind, his features alight with alarm, _it had definitely_ not _been like this._

Her back arching even further, Trelawney began to speak.

" _Foreseen eons ago in the Tapestry of Lady Fate, heralded in primordial times within Destiny's core,_

_Sanctioned by the Keeper of the Gate and brought into being by the omnipresent Nothingmore,_

_They who fall shall be able to vanquish the Dark Lord, roaming through lands unexplored._

_Beloved and matched by the Sicilian Queen, harnessing the power the Dark Lord knows not,_

_Emerging from the Great Barrier unwhole, the Bearer of Tseiqami's Wand shall cleave the Darkness asunder._

_Their victory shall shake the very foundations of reality, propelled by rippling bands of thunder._

_Be vigilant, young ones, for the end of an era draws near…"_

Dumbledore's face went white.

A silence — almost heavier than the one of before — manifested in his office once the eerie voice ceased its speech; the Divination Professor listlessly sagging back in her seat.

The Headmaster's expression then turned unreadable, intelligent mind awhirl with ardent activity.

Thoughts and theories were discarded almost as quickly as they were made; the centenarian wizard trying (and failing) to come up with any individuals who would fit the mentioned criteria.

 _Well, work it out one step at a time, Albus. This 'Nothingmore', judging by the context in which it was used, is — presumably — a place. It shall have to undergo further consideration, as I currently do not know of any location going by that title,_ Albus thought, staring pensively out of the nearest window. _The Wand of Tseiqami… hmm. I vaguely recall a story from my youth, which briefly mentioned this Wand, but the details of this memory vexingly elude my mind. Another subject for later consideration, then…_

Trelawney blinked out of her stupor, sitting up to glance at her newfound surroundings curiously. "Oh. Oh! Hello, Albus."

She did not get a reply, as the old wizard was staring absently out at the expansive grounds of Hogwarts, occasionally running a weathered hand through his long, white beard.

"What was I saying? I've completely forgotten," the suddenly sober witch then said, again attempting to speak to the still far-away Headmaster.

Silence was her only response.

Shrugging slightly, Professor Trelawney decided to drop the issue. She climbed to her feet and soon ambled her way out of the office, leaning heavily on nearby stone structures for support.

Noticing that her throat felt awfully dry, Trelawney daydreamed about the nearest thirst-quenching drink.

That bottle of cherry chardonnay, sitting untouched on her shelf, back in her tower, was looking all the more attractive by the minute…

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**_Entrance Hall, Potter Manor, Lancashire, 22/06/1996…_ **

A still, peaceful quiet settled in the expansive entrance hall of Potter Manor, which was currently devoid of occupants.

It was promptly and gently broken by the soft _whoosh_ of the Floo terminal activating.

Out of the ornate hearth strode a figure, its head trailed by lengthy tresses of auburn hair and dressed in robes of a simple forest green. Lily looked about the large room, sending the ash caught in the crevices of her clothing into non-existence with a slight flick of her wand.

In that same instant her husband stepped out of the fireplace, shaking his head like a dog and watching as black, dust-like particles slowly fell to the stone floor.

James glanced at her, immediately noting the absence of their daughter and the interdimensional travellers.

"Where do you think they are, Lily?" he asked. Her nose wrinkled as she Vanished the cinders littering his body and the ground. "I could swear that they entered the Floo before the both of us…"

She shrugged. "I don't know, James. The Floo probably did that _thing_ again. I really think we should get it fixed soon."

Whenever one used the Floo Network to enter Potter Manor, she and her husband had found, it had the awfully regular tendency of completely disregarding the order in which a group of people entered said Network. It was a recurring problem — one that James had promised to get fixed; yet, for reasons still unknown to Lily, had not as of today — that resulted in it being impossible to predict who it would be that exited the Floo on the other side first.

Somehow, it also resulted in the time gaps between arrivals being highly varied and irregular.

James nodded, writing himself a mental note to get the Floo repaired. Removing his deep blue over-robe, he held it out in his right hand.

The garment disappeared soundlessly, taken by Blinky — one of the Potter House Elves — to its storage place in a nearby closet.

Lily moved closer to the fireplace, arms crossed and disposition expectant.

The sound of rushing air then came from the mentioned location. Turning on the spot, the Potter patriarch spied the form of Sirius Black appearing in a swirl of black robes and green flame.

The man stepped out of the fire and looked around curiously; a fond, reminiscent half-smile playing his lips.

"Ahh. Feels good to be back," he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the roof far above him — the flat, uninteresting underside of the floor above them.

"You've been here before?" asked Lily, gesturing with her wand again. Sirius flashed her a grateful smile as the embers disappeared from his clothing.

"Yes, I have. Well, actually, that would be an understatement," he replied, strolling over to inspect a portrait mounted on a nearby wall. Its occupant, some distant ancestor of the Potter family, curiously examined him right back.

The red-headed woman frowned at the decidedly empty stone hearth, arms still crossed, as if she was trying to make her children appear by sheer force of will.

"Oh? How so?"

James just about managed to restrain the smirk that threatened to break out upon glimpsing her expression.

"When I was a teenager, back in my dimension," Sirius began. He again attempted to convince himself that he had, in fact, travelled to another plane of existence, and wasn't simply dreaming.

Unfortunately, he was not very successful.

"My dear family and I had a few…disputes, shall we say. Eventually, it got to the point where said arguments got a _tad_ too intense, and I ran away. Your other self, Prongs—" Here, he nodded towards the mentioned individual.

Said individual blinked at the casual mention of his Animagus's name — not many people knew about it. In fact, practically no one at _all,_ except for a few choice people.

"—thankfully invited me to stay in Potter Manor until I had regained my bearings. And, at some point down the line, it was decided that I could stay there indefinitely."

Sirius suddenly decided to pull a face at the detailed portrait before him.

The poor figure suspended within looked awfully startled at the black-haired man's abrupt change in expression.

Lily sighed audibly. James lost the battle to retract the grin from his face.

"So, yeah, you could say that I know the place pretty well."

"Interesting," the Healer replied.

Silence then fell upon the entrance hall; each of the three finding something or other to occupy themselves for the time being.

Lily continued to stare at the fireplace, her frown becoming more pronounced as her foot tapped impatiently on the stone floor. James stepped towards a nearby window, gazing out of it and taking in the lush gardens — meticulously kept by the Potter House Elves — that were presented to his eyes.

Sirius took to making increasingly childish — and, admittedly, amusing — expressions at the various portraits situated around the expansive room, who each looked highly (and rightfully) perturbed at his actions.

When the quiet had gone on for about three minutes, along with the teenagers failing to appear, the red-headed woman actually began to feel concerned.

Luckily for the sanity of whoever was manning the Floo Network Authority's help desk, the undulating green flames flared to fill the entire fireplace's interior and the forms of Hermione and Rosalyn promptly materialised therein.

The two witches stepped out of the hearth, automatically straightening their clothing and seamlessly resuming their conversation.

"—you know that the transportation method of Flooing was, in fact, discovered by accident?" Rosalyn disclosed, her hands gesturing ardently.

Hermione shook her head, an intrigued expression on her face. "Really? How was it discovered?"

Brushing an errant curl out of her face, the younger redhead in the room began to explain herself.

Lily helpfully vanished the ash upon their clothing — which, expectedly, the two subjects of her spell did not notice, as they were currently engrossed in a discussion about Potions experiments involving Floo powder — and looked about for the third, missing individual.

"I wonder where Harry is," Hermione said, when Rose had stopped speaking, glancing back curiously at the orange fire within the black-stoned hearth.

Her conversation partner also looked behind her and into the fireplace. "Oh, don't worry, Hermione. You see, the Floo normally does stuff like this. He'll be here soo—"

She was interrupted by a vaguely boy-shaped blur shooting out of the suddenly green fire with enough speed to rival a bullet.

There was a slight _thump as_ it landed a good ten feet away from the harmless conflagration, eventually coming to a stop next to the entrance to the main hallway.

The shocked silence that had fallen with the figure's entrance was broken by Sirius' not-so-thought-out-remark.

"Good Merlin, Harry. Do you always exit the Floo like this?"

He was rewarded with twin glares to the back of his head. The black-haired man, all of a sudden, had the intense urge to keep his mouth shut for the foreseeable future.

For his continued safety, in the least.

Harry, his face ridden with soot and glasses askew, tiredly raised a hand in a _so-so_ motion.

"Not _always_ like this, Sirius. Sometimes…sometimes I fly even further, sometimes I don't go anywhere at all. It varies quite a lot."

He painfully pulled himself to his feet as Lily marched purposefully towards him.

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked upon reaching him, her gaze concernedly perusing his form for any blatant injuries.

"I'm fine," he replied, gingerly probing for sore spots on his waist.

A raised eyebrow was his only response.

"I'm _fine,"_ Harry asserted again. He hissed as his finger came into contact with an affected region.

The Healer clicked her tongue disbelievingly and drew her wand. "Mm-hmm. Sure you are. Now, stand still for me…"

The other occupants of the entrance hall were treated to the rather amusing sight of Harry attempting to wriggle away from the eldest female Potter, while the mentioned witch ran her short stick over him and performed various diagnostic charms.

Once that was done — and after receiving no alarming reports — the red-headed woman began to fuss over him, straightening his glasses and brushing the soot out of his robes and hair.

Harry dutifully squirmed about, as all teenagers were wont to do when doted upon by their mothers, but he secretly relished the feeling of someone other than Hermione actively worrying over his well-being.

His mother eventually nodded, satisfied with the his now presentable appearance. She stepped back and looked over to her daughter.

"Okay, I'm going to get started on some lunch now. Rose? Would you please give our guests a tour of the house?" she requested. On a whim, the woman glanced at the other side of the entrance hall.

She noticed rather quickly that her 'mature' husband had joined Sirius in his mission to traumatise as many portraits as possible, by virtue of pulling progressively more juvenile faces.

The witch could even attest that the dark-haired man had, at one point, jumped up and down on the spot, producing an odd mix between a call of a monkey and the bray of a donkey.

James, instead of acting as someone his age should have, only howled with laughter; having to place a hand against a nearby wall to prevent himself from collapsing to the floor in a pile of hysterics.

Lily threw her hands up.

She spun on the spot and stalked into the hallway, muttering under her breath about incorrigible husbands and immature adults.

"Sure, Mum," Rosalyn accepted with a giggle, though her mother was no longer close enough to hear her.

She turned to face Harry and Hermione, whose expressions gave away their varying degrees of amusement.

The girl grabbed both of their hands and pulled urgently, walking backwards and towards the winding staircase.

"Come on, guys. I'll show you around my humble abode!"

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**_Potter Manor, Lancashire, 22/06/1996…_ **

The manor was huge, to say the least.

It was a simple yet elegant affair. Three stories tall, Georgian in style and containing a large but modest number of rooms. The hallways were lined with paintings of his ancestors and various family pictures, denoting James, Lily and Rose — along with occasional appearances of other people — in a multitude of settings and backgrounds.

In short, the entire building had a very _homely_ atmosphere.

Harry smiled slightly as he looked at an animated photograph of his father gleefully cheering as a six-year-old Rose, her little face scrunched up in determination, managed to get her broomstick to rise a few metres off the ground.

A rapidly approaching Lily marched towards the two, wand drawn and her features twisted with abject fury and worry.

The fifteen-year-old chuckled to himself as the small, animated figure of his mother started berating an equally tiny, black-haired silhouette for allowing their child to fly upon the thin stick of wood.

Trailing after Hermione and Rose as they walked in the direction of the library — the two witches were currently engaged in a 'fascinating' conversation about _reagents used in the Wiggenweld potion;_ whatever _reagents_ meant, Harry had no clue — he took a glance out a nearby window.

A luscious expanse of greenery and flowerbeds met his gaze, along with elegant garden ornaments placed strategically to round off the tasteful image. What looked like three hoops resident to a Quidditch pitch hovered just inside his vantage point from the transparent aperture; floating majestically in the soft daylight and the gentle melody of birdsong.

Before Harry could start daydreaming about playing his favourite sport again, the three teens reached the library.

Rosalyn stopped at the threshold, turning to face himself and Hermione. "Are you both ready?"

He nodded. His best friend indicated her own assent, attempting to peek around the other girl's figure. "Yep! We're ready."

"Are you sure, though? The Library can be a bit daunting to those seeing it for the first time," the redhead said warningly. Her message was somewhat ruined by the slight grin she was wearing.

Hermione rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. The sheer idea of the books held within the library had banished any hesitance of talking to the relatively unknown person. "I'm _sure_ we'll be fine, Rose."

The other female raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you're certain…"

She pushed open the oaken double doors with a theatrical flourish. "Behold, my dear lady and gentleman. The fabled Library of House Potter."

They proceeded into the mentioned room and the young bookworm froze on the spot, her eyes gaining an uncharacteristically wide appearance.

The room looked as if it stretched from the ground floor and all the way to the attic; the crisscrossing of wooden support beams arching high above them. Towering shelves dominated the space, all packed to the brim with a myriad of esoteric tomes and manuscripts. Large bay windows featured in the walls, along with comfortable couches, armchairs and worktables dotted around the room sporadically.

Holding centre stage was an ornate lectern; a single book and feathered quill placed prominently upon its wooden head.

Hermione practically salivated at the sight of the innumerable books lining the various racks and shelving.

"Hermione?" asked Rose concernedly, noticing the girl's state and attempting to gain her attention.

There was no reply. Instead, the other witch approached the lectern, running her hands reverently over its surface.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" their host tried again.

A sound of pure happiness escaped from the mentioned individual's mouth as she read the title of the thin tome resting on the podium.

_The Magical Index of the Ancestral Library of Potter._

"I think you've broken her, Rose," Harry commented, highly amused. Not even the infamous library at Hogwarts had incited such a reaction in his best friend!

Rosalyn became slightly distressed.

"No, no, don't worry," he placated when he saw her expression. His smirk widened. "She's okay. All we can do in this situation is wait for her to snap out of it."

Hermione took that moment to unconsciously support his statement.

"Sweet Merlin," she whispered breathily, almost worshipping the magical index with the softest of caresses. Harry's merriment increased by at _least_ a factor of ten. "I think I'm in love."

"See? She's fine. Completely fine."

Rose relaxed, looking marginally comforted.

Having figured out how the Index functioned — she hadn't been coined the Brightest-Witch-Of-Her-Age for nothing — Hermione suddenly marched off in a seemingly random direction, searching for a certain tome.

Upon reaching the appropriate shelf destination, the young witch retrieved her book and quickly proceeded to the nearest beanbag. She plopped herself down therein and promptly began to read her manuscript.

A slight _pop_ to Harry's left heralded the appearance of a House Elf. It was dressed in a fitting uniform, artfully coloured in matching tinges of maroon red, elegant silver and bright gold.

The crest of House Potter sat proudly upon the small being's breast.

Even the fifteen-year-old boy recognised the seal, given the fact that he _was_ standing in the ancestral library of the mentioned house. That sigil was practically everywhere!

"Greetings, little Master and Mistress," it squeaked, beaming at Harry and Hermione. "I bes Blinky, a Potter House Elf! It bes nice to meet yous!"

Harry replied with a little wave. His best friend was so engrossed in her book that she had not even noticed the elf's entrance.

Rosalyn squatted down, smiling at the uniform-clad figure. "Hey, Blinky. This here is Harry and that—"

She nodded towards Hermione, who looked completely at ease as her fingers turned another page of her book. However, the girl remained blissfully unaware that she was being talked about.

"—is Hermione. What can we do for you?"

"Mistress Lily bes calling yous," the elf replied. He excitedly rocked back and forth on her feet. "It bes times for lunchies! Little Master and Misstresses bes coming down right-away for little Master's and Misstresses' mealies!"

Harry had to take a few seconds to translate whatever she had said into coherent English.

Rose, judging by her expression, possessed similar problems as he.

Nevertheless, the girl quickly recovered her wits. "Oh, thanks, Blinky. We'll be down in a few minutes."

The elf grinned toothily and, in that one moment, Harry was reminded very strongly of Dobby.

"All-righties! Blinky bes going now!" And with that, the small being disappeared with another _pop._

Harry smiled slightly. "So, that was Blinky? He's nice."

"Yep," Rosalyn responded fondly. She took a step towards the library's entrance. "He's one of the many house elves bonded to our family, and he has looked after us very well in the time that we have had him. We still haven't quite managed to teach him how to speak _proper_ English, however."

The boy suddenly let out a low chuckle.

"What is it?"

"Don't worry. It's nothing," Harry dismissed with an incomprehensible gesture of his hand and another chortle.

"Oh, come _on_ Harry. You can't do something like that to me. It's just plain mean and impolite."

"Fine," he mock-grumbled. The Slytherin surreptitiously pumped a fist in victory.

The boy started to walk towards the other witch in the room. "It's just that, back in our fifth year of Hogwarts, my best friend here decided to push for more societal awareness into the plight of the house elves. And at one point, she had even put together a whole manifesto of campaigns and knitted various articles of clothing for the poor little elves. I think she'd called her club the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, or something like that."

The redhead snorted, having quickly figured out the unfortunate acronym.

"Interesting. But while her intentions may have been sincere, had she been aware that the elves actually _like_ doing work? With practically no payment at all, when one would normally expect a worker to be dissatisfied with these terms?"

Harry blinked. His best friend had indeed not been cognizant of that little fact.

For that matter, neither had he.

"No, I don't think she was aware of that," he commented absently, rubbing a hand against his chin. "If she had been, however, I think that many arguments could have been avoided."

Rose nodded sagely, despite previously being oblivious to the existence of said arguments.

Upon reaching her relaxed form, the black-haired teen tapped the subject of their conversation on the shoulder. "Hermione? We have to go now. It's time for lunch."

"Heh?" came the eventual, highly intelligent reply.

"It is now time for lunch," Harry enunciated slowly, as if talking to a behind-the-curve child. He received a sharp kick to the shin for his cheek. "Which means we have to go downstairs to eat it."

It took a few seconds for his words to register in Hermione's brain, and the content smile slowly slipped off her face.

"But…but…the books…"

She genuinely looked as if she was going to cry.

Harry tried very hard indeed to keep his amusement from showing. Rosalyn was marginally more successful than him in that regard.

"The books will still be here when you come back," he stated, gently extricating the ridiculously thick tome titled _The Essence of Magic_ from her hands. The boy then grasped her wrist and tugged.

"But Harry, my book…I haven't even gotten to the interesting parts yet…"

"I know, I know," Harry acknowledged. "You'll be able to continue reading after lunch, Hermione."

Rosalyn looked inordinately entertained by the events playing out before her. The messy-haired boy shot the girl a glare.

When it became apparent that his best friend would not budge, he gave up his endeavour on trying to get her into a standing position. Instead — along with a mental _why not_ to accompany it — he simply slipped his arms around her back and under her knees, picking the witch up in one swift motion.

Harry marched determinedly towards the door, noting in some distant corner of his mind that either he was stronger than he'd originally thought, or Hermione was lighter than she appeared.

In that same crevice of his head, he hoped it was the former.

His dimensional counterpart appeared on his left side; her face maroon with suppressed laughter.

The three teenagers — two walking; one happily being carried — proceeded out of the expansive library and into the winding halls of Potter Manor.

"We're going to hold this over her, aren't we?" the redhead said, after a few minutes of silence. It was structured more like a statement than a question.

Hermione somehow did not hear her; having been distracted the odd yet awfully pleasant feeling of being carried for the first time by her best friend.

There was a decidedly non-Gryffindor aspect to Harry's replying smirk.

"Oh, yeah, Rose. Totally."

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

Avaxius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:  
> And there we have it. Another instalment of Respective Counterparts, hopefully enough to satiate your desires for the time being.
> 
> TomHRichardson: We shall find out what happened to her in due course. :)
> 
> The greatest amounts of thanks to those who helped me come up with the prophecy. Wouldn't have been able to do it without you!
> 
> And, as always, thank you to my various beta readers. You have been a great help.
> 
> Alrighty. Ta-ta for now.
> 
> Avaxius


	5. To Discuss a Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still don't own Harry Potter. Any OCs in this story are mine, though.
> 
> I sincerely apologise for any delays that came upon my update schedule. Hopefully, updates shall come more frequently, but my life outside of writing shall, unfortunately, take priority. Thank you to those who have stuck with me all the way!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this update of Respective Counterparts. It took a few iterations to get right, but here is the finished result. Mm-kay, enough of my ramblings — on with the story!

Still don't own Harry Potter. Any OCs in this story are mine, though.

I sincerely apologise for any delays that came upon my update schedule. Hopefully, updates shall come more frequently, but my life outside of writing shall, unfortunately, take priority. Thank you to those who have stuck with me all the way!

I hope you all enjoy this update of _Respective Counterparts._ It took a few iterations to get right, but here is the finished result. Mm-kay, enough of my ramblings — on with the story!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**To Discuss A Game**

* * *

_**Grounds of the Potter Residence, Lancashire, 23/06/1996…** _

"I'll never truly understand why they enjoy that dratted game so much," a voice complained.

Hermione cracked a small grin, tipping her face upwards. "Me neither."

She watched as Rosalyn, once again, threw the Quaffle through the middle hoop in a hovering set of three with a gleeful cry—hoops that Sirius had supposedly been guarding.

The black-haired man — who had chosen the position of Keeper to allow his teammate to be the Chaser — tried and failed to change the red ball's trajectory with an amusing flail of his limbs.

"If old age doesn't kill my Quidditch-obsessed family, this dangerous excuse for a _game_ surely will," the voice continued, this time with a little huff.

Lily appeared on Hermione's left, arms crossed and her green gaze similarly pointed skywards. Her brow was wrinkled with both exasperation and worry. "Merlin save my poor heart…so, what's the score, Hermione?"

The girl shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. "Around one hundred and ten to fifty."

As she spoke, Sirius retrieved the errant Quaffle and threw it to his black-haired teammate, who quickly streaked towards the opposite side of the pitch.

Lily rubbed her forehead. "James is going to be _so_ insufferable after this…"

"It's in Harry and Rose's favour, believe it or not," Hermione replied, warming up to the conversation. As she spoke, James drew his arm back to shoot at the aforementioned individuals' undefended goal. "They're doing rather well, all things considered."

Harry, anticipating the move, sneakily aligned his broom just above the wizard and somehow managed to snatch the Quaffle directly out of his father's possession.

She and Lily shared a brief chuckle when the Potter patriarch looked blankly at his empty hand, thoroughly confused as to why the ball was no longer in his grasp.

"I never knew that Harry was such a good Chaser," Hermione muttered quietly, unconsciously giving word to her thoughts as her best friend threw yet another Quaffle past Sirius.

"He _is_ quite good," Lily agreed, noting the far-away aspect on the younger witch's face. She decided not to draw attention to Hermione's ramblings, curious as to where they were heading.

"Personally, I prefer this to his usual Seeker position…I swear the reckless git _purposely_ tries to give me a premature death every time he goes into a 'Wronski Feint', or whatever he calls it…"

Lily hid her amusement well.

"Is he really that bad? Because if you ask me, Hermione, my husband is even worse."

The brunette giggled despite herself. But before she could reply, a series of excited whoops and disappointed groans emerged from the four individuals flying above her.

Looking up at Harry, she quickly surmised that the Quidditch match had finished; for the Golden Snitch was held captive in his outstretched, clenched fist.

"Ah. The game's over now. Finally," Lily said, just as Hermione finished off her glass of orange juice. The Quidditch-enthused wizards and witches descended from the sky, their faces flushed and sporting broad grins.

"Rose, that Sloth Grip Roll you pulled off early in the game was simply _fantastic_ ," Harry gushed, an excited sheen in his eyes. He gracefully dismounted from his broom once it was near to the ground and pushed strands of moist hair out his eyes. "Speaking from experience, that move is _much_ harder to pull off than one would expect. But you made it look so _easy._ I'm _so_ jealous."

"What can I say?" the girl replied, buffing her fingernails on her shoulder. "It's all part of my natural athleticism. And no, I can't give it to you, Sirius — that just isn't possible."

Said individual pouted childishly. Lily and James simultaneously rolled their eyes. "Well, that's just fine. And you know what? I wasn't even going to ask."

Disbelieving snorts answered Sirius' statement.

"I hate you all," the black-haired man mock-grumbled, crossing his arms. "Never get any respect around here…"

Harry, Rose, and Hermione simply laughed in response.

James shook his head, smiling slightly. He placed the Quaffle and the Golden Snitch, which Harry had handed to him,into a small, wooden chest and closed the lid. Leaving the trunk to one side (along with their broomsticks) for Blinky to collect and store away, he turned back to the others. "Time for some dinner, I think. Don't know about you lot, but I am _famished_."

Sirius perked up at that, his put-out demeanour falling away. Harry and Rose straightened out of their exhausted slumps, energised by the prospect of food. The group of Quidditch players turned as one and marched determinedly towards the house sitting nearby, their stomachs almost growling at the thought of delicious sustenance — helpfully prepared by Rubare, the House Elf in charge of the Potter Residence's kitchens.

"Don't get any mud in my dining room!" Lily hollered after them, following at a much more sedate pace. Hermione, secretly amused, matched her stride. "Shoes off at the door! And make sure you wash up before coming downstairs!"

James flashed a grin back at her, waving a hand over his shoulder, as the group of hungry wizards and witches disappeared around a bend in the path. "Will do, dear!"

The older witch pushed a loose strand of red hair out of her face, sighing in fond exasperation. "I can guarantee that at least one person will forget to take off their shoes."

Hermione smiled marginally, but the expression soon slipped off her face. She looked down at the ground.

"Hermione?" Lily asked, almost immediately noticing the girl's change in demeanour. The Healer stopped moving and focused her attention on the shorter figure at her side. "What's wrong?"

There was no reply, for the brunette was engrossed in her own troubled world, her gaze still directed to the gravel path beneath their feet.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

Again, no answer.

Lily placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "Hermione?" she tried again.

The brunette suddenly started, as if only just realising that the older woman had been trying to get her attention. "W-what?"

"I said, what's the matter? Is everything alright?"

"Oh! Uh, yes—yes, Lily, everything's fine," Hermione replied quickly. Lily watched as the girl visibly straightened, banishing whatever dark thoughts that had previously sat heavily upon her psyche to the back of her mind. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. Nothing to worry about."

Lily's brows furrowed. "Are you sure?" she asked, eyes shining with concern.

Hermione found that she couldn't quite meet the older woman's green gaze. She felt sure that the viridian stare, however well-intentioned it may be, would read her like an open book.

And she wasn't entirely sure that that would be such a good thing.

"I'm positive, Lily. Thanks for asking."

The Healer's lips pursed, but she let the topic slide. The redhead knew that the younger witch would talk — hopefully to Lily herself — when she was ready.

"So, tell me, Hermione — you like to read, right? Who is your favourite author? Favourite book?" Lily began, picking a subject that would hopefully pull the brunette out of her melancholy.

The older witch knew that her attempt had worked when Hermione brightened like a firefly, her expression becoming alive with ardent passion.

"Oh, well, that's quite hard to say! I mean, I like Jane Austen and a few of her works, such as _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Sense and Sensibility._ But I'm also a diehard fan for classic _Sherlock Holmes,_ as I have a soft spot for mystery and suspense. Oh! I do also love good old Shakespeare…would it be _too_ narcissistic of me to say that I like _The Winter's Tale_ most of all?"

Lily laughed, glad to see Hermione back in high spirits. "No, I don't think it would be — I've found myself reading _The House of Mirth_ by Edith Wharton a couple of times on occasion; do you think you can guess why?"

The brunette unsuccessfully contained a giggle as the two witches resumed their slow stroll towards the Potter Residence. If Lily noticed Hermione walking a little closer to her than before, she did not comment about it.

"Yes, I think I can…"

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**Living Room, The Potter Residence, Lancashire, 23/06/1996…** _

"A squirrel!"

"No, he's a dog!"

"Are you alright, Harry? He's obviously a griffin."

"Are _you_ okay, Rose? How can he _possibly_ be a griffin? Did you _see_ those arms?"

"Well, if you ask me, then Sirius is _clearly_ being an amphemite."

Sirius paused, breaking his silence and staring incredulously at the person who had spoken. "I don't even know what that _is_ , James."

Harry's sides started to ache as he laughed in chorus with the rest of the room. James looked around, feigning confusion. "Well, that's what I saw."

Sirius placed his middle finger and thumb on his temples and slowly shook his head, sighing, in the very picture of disappointment.

The man stood next to the fireplace, in which a roaring fire was merrily crackling away, and a half-empty glass of some orange liquid that Harry did not recognise was held in his right hand. The interdimensional travellers and their hosts were situated in the living room of the Potter Residence, having migrated to the cosy space after eating a particularly filling and delicious meal. The food had done well in regard to replenishing their energy, most of which had been used up in the pick-up Quidditch game earlier. The form of entertainment chosen for that evening had been the classic Muggle party game, _Charades,_ and Sirius had volunteered to go first.

Whatever he was acting out remained a mystery, though, for his audience were fielding hilariously incorrect guesses.

"Oh, James," Lily piped up. She was seated on a maroon loveseat next to her husband, tucked into his side. She grinned teasingly up at him. "I truly worry about your guessing abilities. At this rate, a visit to St. Mungo's might be in order!"

As the group erupted into laughter again, Harry felt a most curious sensation rise up in him.

It was both warm and welcoming, a comforting feeling that he quite honestly did not want to stop. It made his heart hum pleasantly, akin to the buzz one would feel after drinking a freshly-opened bottle of Butterbeer that had hit _just_ the right spot on the way down.

 _Perhaps,_ the boy silently mused, feeling indescribably content, _this was what being with family felt like_?

"I'm sorry, Mum," Rose put in, perched on the armrest of Harry's chair. A mischievous grin lit up her features. "But I'm afraid that Dad is a rather lost cause — remember the incident at Fortescue's?"

"Oh, yes, I do, Rose," Lily snorted, trying to hide an amused smile behind a hand. James studied the woollen rug on the floor, suddenly finding it highly interesting. "I remember it quite clearly, in fact!"

"What happened at Fortescue's?" Harry asked, leaning forward slightly. He took a swig from a nearly-empty glass of water and absently wiped a hand against his mouth.

"Yes, what _did_ happen at our favourite ice cream parlour?" Sirius prompted as well; his gleeful expression showing that he was quite happy indeed to be receiving teasing material on the Potter patriarch. "Please tell us! I'm sure the story will be very hilarious."

Hermione, sitting on the couch next to Harry and having remained silent for the past hour — the boy honestly would have forgotten that she was even present had the girl not periodically shifted into a different position, thereby causing the cushions to move — nodded in agreement.

"Alright, alright," Rose acquiesced. Placing her orange juice on the coffee table, the young witch began to tell her tale. "Where to begin, I wonder?"

"How about at the start?" Harry cheekily suggested. "The beginning is generally where people start their stories, is it not?"

The redhead did not dignify his comment with a verbal response, instead opting for the mature course of action.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"So!" Rosalyn continued, once everyone had gotten comfortable. "This amusing story involves me, Dad, Mum, and my aunt Sarah, whose hair was _an awfully similar shade_ to Mum's…"

About five minutes later, the room was filled with merriment as those present observed and laughed at James' disgruntled expression.

"It wasn't my fault that you witches have such similar shades of hair, so much so that one can barely tell the difference," he grumbled good-naturedly. Crossing his arms and affecting a grumpy disposition, James determinedly ignored the fact that it _was_ rather embarrassing that he had failed to differentiate the hair colour of his wife from his sister. "I could swear you two did that on purpose, just to trip me up! It was a conspiracy, I tell you."

"The only thing that was a conspiracy, James," Sirius got out, in between hoots of laughter, "was the fact that you thought that your _sister_ was your wife! Is there something you aren't telling us?"

James pretended not to hear the other man, busying himself with Summoning a drink from the kitchen, as the rest of the room cracked up once again.

When Sirius and her Dad started bickering like the children they were (in their minds, at least), Rose turned to Harry, quickly starting up a conversation about various Quidditch manoeuvres that were apparently the hardest in existence to perform. The boy contently leaned back in his seat, easily-formulated replies issuing from his mouth, and felt the oddest urge to put his arm around Hermione.

Much like James had with Lily, who was rolling her eyes at her husband's predictable yet no less amusing antics, so casually that it seemed that neither had noticed it happening…

Harry wasn't entirely sure how such an action would be taken by Hermione. So, glancing out at the darkening sky through a nearby window, he settled for placing his arm on the sofa back behind his best friend.

Luckily, she did not seem to notice — Hermione was too busy staring deeply into the still-steaming cup of tea held in her hands. Her expression was unreadable, a conglomeration of errant emotions that Harry had never seen before on her face.

Rose eventually petered off into silence and stood up, wandering away in search of another snack.

"Hey, Hermione?" Harry began, turning his full attention to her, once the redhead had disappeared.

The witch was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not appear to hear him.

"Hermione?" he tried again, placing a hand on her knee and startling the girl out of her trance.

"What? Oh—" Hermione shook her head as if to clear her mind. "Yes? What's up, Harry?"

"Oh, It's just that you've been rather quiet these past few hours," Harry replied, shrugging. "Is everything alright?"

Hermione looked away. "Y-yes, everything is fine, Harry. Thanks for asking."

When his best friend failed to meet his gaze again, the wizard knew that something was wrong.

"Are you sure?" Harry probed, staring concernedly at her face, searching for a clue leading to the cause of Hermione's downtrodden demeanour. He squeezed her knee gently. "You can talk to me, you know."

The brunette nodded, surreptitiously wiping a hand against her eyes. Her gaze was now fixed on the couch; her hands rubbing against its soft material.

Harry waited.

"I think I need some air," Hermione said at last. She stood up — and while Harry felt a little disappointed at both the loss of warmth and the fact that she had not confided in him, he did not dare let such thoughts show on his face — and gave him a grateful smile.

"Harry, I—" She stopped, shaking her head again.

Dainty hands pushed themselves through a wavy mass of brown hair. "Thank you. For everything."

And with that, Hermione marched around the couch and walked out of the door, disappearing into the hallway outside.

Harry frowned, though before he could get to his feet in order to follow his best friend, he saw Lily already making her way to the exit. When she spotted the teenager looking in her direction, his mother tipped her head towards the doorway, indicating that she would take care of Hermione for him.

The young wizard flashed her a grateful grin, twisting back around in his seat to face the middle of the room.

In the light of the dying fire, Sirius' face held a mock-affronted expression and his arms were crossed. James and Rose were laughing uproariously, probably at a joke that had been taken at his godfather's expense.

Harry sighed quietly, finishing off his drink in a single gulp. He hoped that Hermione would soon return to better spirits — the boy so hated seeing his best friend down in the dumps.

He snorted upon musing that this was how Hermione must have felt for practically the entirety of their fifth year, which he had largely spent moping and brooding about.

 _Dearest Hermione,_ Harry thought fondly, chuckling to himself as Sirius stuck his nose up in the air imperiously _, what would I do without you?_

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**First Floor Balcony, The Potter Residence, Lancashire, 23/06/1996…** _

Hermione rested her forearms on the stone bannister, feeling the cool evening air dance across her face and tease her brown tresses.

She heard footsteps approaching from behind but did not turn around to greet whoever it was.

The person's identity was revealed when Lily stepped next to Hermione, leaning against the marble railing. The older woman remained quiet for a few minutes, observing their relatively still surroundings, and the brunette felt no urge to disturb the silence.

Eventually, though, Lily opted to speak.

"It's a beautiful evening, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

Night was fast approaching, rendering the sky into a beautiful mural of rich purples, ruby reds, and smooth oranges. The grounds of the Potter Residence were peaceful, the wildlife and nature itself seeming to settle down to rest for the next few hours. Gentle gusts of wind disturbed the foliage and greenery, creating a quiet cacophony of rustling leaves and whistling grass.

"I've spent many evenings on this very balcony, enjoying the view," Lily continued, her voice slightly louder than the background noise of natural sounds. "It allows me to collect my thoughts, which is particularly helpful after a long and stressful day."

Hermione hummed noncommittally, scanning her gaze over the Quidditch Pitch, where the dark silhouettes of hoops silently stood against an almost-black backdrop.

"I view it as a place to relax, a place where I can let my musings run rampant and free…something which has helped me survive all that is James Potter with a relatively sane state of mind."

A half-smile appeared on the younger witch's face. Hermione thought that perhaps _she_ needed a similar place like this to continue associating with a certain black-haired wizard without going crazy since trouble always seemed to find him and not (as she had often assumed) the other way around.

She also understood what Lily was doing, and secretly felt grateful for the effort.

"I might need to borrow this space occasionally, then," Hermione said, surprising both herself and Lily. Neither had really expected the brunette to talk so soon, but the Healer most certainly did not look a gift horse in the mouth. "Dealing with Harry produces enough headaches for three people! That boy will give me enough of them to last a lifetime, I tell you."

"Not that Harry _causes_ trouble, mind, nor is he unpleasant to be around," the girl was quick to clarify, upon playing her previous sentence through her mind. Luckily, judging by Lily's amused expression, it had not been taken the wrong way. "Far from it, in fact! It's just that, well, trouble always seems to find him, and also affects those close to him by association. It's like he's a…a…"

"A magnet for trouble?" Lily succinctly summarised with a grin. "An attractive force for all things dangerous? Sounds like something I have to deal with on a daily basis!"

They shared a brief chuckle, which soon tapered off into comfortable silence. The redhead raised her gaze to the heavens, observing the colourful nebulae and twinkling stars displayed far above.

Hermione bit her lip and traced a fingernail along the barrier beneath her forearms, studying the grooves and depressions in the cool stone.

Waiting, she could feel it coming…

"Pound for your thoughts?"

There it was.

"I don't think they're worth that much, to be honest," Hermione replied almost instantly, attempting to wrestle said constructs into some semblance of coherency.

" _I_ think that they are," Lily rejoined, bumping the girl's shoulder playfully. "What was it that Harry called you? The _brightest witch of her age,_ or something similar? Surely the thoughts of such an intelligent individual would be worth a significant amount."

Hermione coughed lightly, hoping that the lack of light concealed the flush on her cheeks. "Yes, well, Harry's always said— I mean, it could be argued— uh, that is to say—"

She gave it up as a lost cause when Lily let out a peal of laughter at the smaller girl's sudden loss in sentence-forming ability.

"Okay, okay. Fine. You win. They are worth something," Hermione accepted, rubbing her hands on her arms to ward off the encroaching chill. She smiled gratefully when Lily wordlessly cast a Warming Charm over the two of them. "Though, I'm not entirely sure how much."

"Oh, my dear Hermione," the older woman replied. It sounded like she was imparting significant information, so Hermione turned to her, giving her full attention to Lily. "Your thoughts are _highly_ valuable. In fact, they're one of the most precious things that a person can have! Along with other things, of course, such as—"

Lily cut herself off, smiling wryly. She gestured to herself with a little laugh. "Look at me, rambling your ears off. Never mind. Just know, Hermione, that one's thoughts should be treasured, and it is by no means considered cowardly or weak when one expresses their mind to another."

Then, having delivered her words of wisdom, the taller witch wrapped Hermione up in a warm, tight hug; almost immediately placing her chin on top of the girl's head.

The brunette — though caught off guard by the strength of the embrace — felt the tension drain out of her frame and buried her face into Lily's collarbone, hiding suddenly bright eyes from the outside world.

Only when the slight hitching of Hermione's shoulders had levelled into a rhythmic rise-and-fall did the Healer loosen her grip. She pulled back, ensuring that the girl met her emerald green gaze fully.

"Come to me whenever — and, I repeat, _whenever —_ you feel the need to talk to someone, okay?" Lily stipulated gently, but in her immoveable Healer's voice that suggested any resistance would be utterly futile. She smiled when Hermione, having caught the unspoken message, nodded. "No bottling up of your feelings — it isn't healthy, and the only person who would be affected negatively is yourself. Understood?"

"O-okay, Lily. I will," Hermione promised, rubbing the tear tracks from her face with her right hand. "I understand."

Lily nodded, loosening her grip further. "Good."

"Now," continued the taller woman. She pressed a brief kiss against Hermione's brow before stepping away fully, though she kept an arm around the younger witch's shoulders. "Let's get back inside, shall we? I don't think the others would appreciate it if they found us out here in the morning frozen to death!"

Hermione giggled merrily, a true sound of happiness, as the two witches stepped back into the warmth of the Potter Residence. She noted in a distant corner of her mind that Lily had not needed her to put into words what had sat so heavily on her young psyche, instead reading her like…well, like a book and correctly addressing the crux of the matter.

Briefly thanking whatever deity existed for the intuition of Lily Potter, Hermione laughed again as the aforementioned person described a time that her husband had 'accidentally' locked himself outside of the house, smack dab in the middle of winter.

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**Somewhere in the British Isles, 23/06/1996…** _

The curtains were drawn, the lights dimmed. Wards and spells ensuring absolute privacy had been laid down to the best of the casters' abilities. The atmosphere was charged and packed with tension; so thick that one could cut it with a butter knife.

Around a large, ornate table sat dark, hooded figures. Their identities were a closely kept secret, for the possibility of spies was too great to be ignored.

After all, they all knew the fate that had befallen the last individual stupid enough to lower their guard.

The one at the head of the table, acting as the chair for this meeting, spoke into the heavy silence.

"Your report?"

A figure three seats to their right stood up, head bowed. Their hands, hidden under thick robes of dark cotton, were held in supplication at their front. "I can say that Phase One was a success — they fell for the ruse. No one suspected a thing."

The adjudicator nodded. "Excellent. And you? What do you have to report?"

Though multiple layers of high-grade Obfuscation Charms had been cast on their hoods, meaning it was practically impossible to tell if someone was staring directly at them, no one mistook who was being addressed.

The figure at the opposite end of the table rose to their feet. Their voice was as smooth as velvet; a controlled, aristocratic drawl. "Everything is progressing as can be expected. I estimate that Phase Two shall be ready in roughly one weeks' time."

There was a pleased tone in the replying silhouette's voice. They placed their elbows on the mahogany table, an introspective aspect to the tilt of their head. "Very good. Yes, very good, indeed…"

A tense silence then fell upon the dark room's occupants. No one dared break it, fearful of the reaction and the punishment that would be enacted upon them by the one sitting at the table's head.

When that very same figure sat back in their chair and lowered their arms to their sides, everyone else breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"The time has now come."

The level of tension in the room rocketed back up to stifling levels.

"The game is now afoot. The pieces are now at play. As the _Muggles_ would put it—" The word was spat with such acidic vitriol it was a wonder that the mouth which had spoken it had not melted into a puddle of flesh. "—the die has now been cast."

The figure stood gracefully, pacing slowly around the head of the table; hands casually clasped behind their back.

The air was so still that one could have heard the quietest of pin drops.

"This means that you all have a decision to make. A decision that shall only be offered to you _once,_ so ensure you make it carefully. For, after this point in time, whatever option you choose to take shall be final."

The dark silhouette slowly moved the space where their face should have been across the other occupants of the room, conveying the significance of their words. The various figures shivered involuntarily, hating the feeling of insects crawling under their skin as that eyeless gaze moved over their hooded forms.

"Those who don't feel the utmost devotion to the Great Cause should make themselves known now. They shall be allowed to leave this room and go back to their mundane lives, but shall forever live in regret, knowing that they had the chance to be part of something truly extraordinary and turned it down. Is there anyone who feels this way?"

No one moved. If there were any dissenters among them, they were too petrified by the prospect of having _his_ attention affixed on them.

When the room was bathed in stillness for a full thirty seconds, its occupants got the distinct impression that the standing figure was smiling. It sent a shiver down their spines.

"Good," purred the silhouette, dark satisfaction colouring its voice. "This meeting is now dismissed. Return to your positions, to your homes and families. Let no one know about your true allegiances. The time is almost upon us, noble Knights of Prometheus, when Magic-kind shall take its rightful place as the dominant species. When this happens, all shall be right in the world again, and the work of the great Prometheus shall be complete! For the Cause; for the Might of Magic!"

The Knights of Prometheus rose as one, beating their chests and stamping their feet.

"For the Cause; for the Might of Magic!"

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_30/10/2020_

What had gotten Hermione so down in the dumps, I wonder?

Valkara: Thanks for the review! Yes, you would be correct with your deduction. :)

Thank you all for reading my story! I hope to see you all again in the next update of _Respective Counterparts._ See you then!

Avaxius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30/10/2020
> 
> What had gotten Hermione so down in the dumps, I wonder?
> 
> Valkara: Thanks for the review! Yes, you would be correct with your deduction. :)
> 
> Thank you all for reading my story! I hope to see you all again in the next update of Respective Counterparts. See you then!
> 
> Avaxius


	6. Discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still don't own Harry Potter. Any OCs in this story are mine, though, along with the elements of the plotline that are non-canon to JK Rowling's Harry Potter.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and reviews! It was interesting to see your replies to my last question.
> 
> Again, apologies for any delays. IRL duties have been calling, so…
> 
> Anyways. The next chapter awaits.

Still don't own Harry Potter. Any OCs in this story _are_ mine, though, along with the elements of the plotline that are non-canon to JK Rowling's Harry Potter.

Thank you for all your comments and reviews! It was interesting to see your replies to my last question.

Again, apologies for any delays. IRL duties have been calling, so…

Anyways. The next chapter awaits.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Discoveries**

* * *

_**Potter Manor, Lancashire, 24/06/1996…** _

Warmth.

It was wrapped around him like a fluffy blanket, seeping into his slowly awakening mind and infusing within it a sense of comfort, of safety.

Green eyes slowly fluttered open as Harry reluctantly entered the conscious world, taking in the blurry expanse of colours that was presented to his gaze.

Sitting up tiredly and snatching his rounded-frame glasses off the bedside table, the boy slipped them onto his nose and let out a yawn. Scratching a hand through his unruly black hair, he absently glanced around his room, feeling pleasantly rested.

 _His_ bedroom.

Not Dudley's _second_ bedroom, which his dear relatives had only given Harry after it became apparent that someone outside of his relatives' residence knew where he was staying.

Sitting across from Harry's position on the bed and made of a rich mahogany was a wooden wardrobe, easily large enough to hold all of the wizard's material possessions. A charmed mirror was mounted on the cupboard's door, inconspicuously waiting for someone to check their reflection, upon which — according to Rose, who had grinned mischievously as she'd pointed this out — it would erupt into a litany of (not so) helpful comments relating to the person's appearance.

Next to the wardrobe was an ornate desk, probably made of the same material, accompanied by a matching yet comfortable leather chair. Though the desk was largely unused, a full ink pot and reams of blank parchment were placed on its surface, along with other writing implements. A large window sat in the wall to Harry's left, letting beams of golden sunlight illuminate his room softly.

The walls were subtle peach, a few paintings of landscapes dotted here and there, and the floors a soft grey. He probably would have further decorated the space with his personal items, had they not been in a literal different plane of existence.

Harry threw off the covers and stood up, sleep still clouding his brain. He yawned again as he wandered through his open door, heading down the wide staircase in search of breakfast.

Thinking about the unattainable status of both his worldly possessions and the friends who had mostly purchased them for him — and that he had practically abandoned — made the young wizard feel both depressed and guilty.

How could Harry have done such a thing, leaving them behind, after all they had done for him? What would Ron, Ginny, Neville; hell, even _Luna,_ sweet, understanding Luna, think if they saw him now?

Happy, blissfully rested and largely content, while Voldemort himself was threatening their hopes, their dreams.

_Their very lives._

And, Hermione — dear, faithful Hermione. What must she be thinking, feeling? Harry could not imagine how _he_ would feel if he'd followed his best friend down a path _literally_ out of their world, thereby cutting off all contact with everything he'd loved — his childhood friends, the life he had known, his parents…

_His parents…_

With all the subtlety of a rogue Bludger, the full impact of just what had occurred in the last few days took that precise moment to smack Harry square in the face.

 _His parents_ _were_ alive!

Harry staggered to the side, legs suddenly traitorously weak, pressing a hand to his chest as he vainly tried to stem the torrent of emotions tearing through him. His eyes began to water, his breathing quickening, but he somehow managed to give himself a mental shake and contained his rampaging feelings.

Leaning on a wall for support, Harry stepped into the kitchen, wiping his sleeve against his eyes as he attempted to banish the evidence of his near-breakdown from his face.

Then, looking up, the boy very nearly lost the tenuous hold he had on his emotions.

Standing at a marble counter, Lily was the only other occupant of the light and airy cooking space. She had her back to him, as her hands were occupied with the whisking of what sounded like eggs. The woman's red hair was tied up in a ponytail, her sleeves were rolled back, and she was currently humming a quiet song — a random, tuneless melody of notes.

To Harry's ears, it sounded as if it came from the Celedones themselves.

A spike of bone-deep longing and sadness for what he had missed out on — things that most other children took for granted — arose in Harry's chest as the boy painfully observed the calm picture of domesticity before him.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Lily greeted teasingly, still facing the counter. Having chosen to make breakfast for the other occupants of the house, instead of allowing the House-elves to do so as usual, her whisk tapped periodically against the side of the plastic bowl as it mixed the contents. "Did you have a good rest?"

His reply, against his wishes, came out as a choked breath.

In the beats of silence that followed, Harry once again engaged in a wrestling match with his rampant emotions.

Lily glanced over her shoulder when he did not reply, taking a single look at his expression.

The witch immediately put her cooking implements down and stepped around the kitchen island. She marched determinedly towards Harry, sweeping him up in a hug thankfully not designed to break his ribs — which, in some distant corner of his mind, he had been half-expecting.

"There, there," Lily consoled, speaking softly and rubbing his back in soothing circles. Harry stiffened, clearly uncomfortable, but Lily nevertheless guided his head onto her shoulder. "Talk to me, Harry. What's the problem?"

"N-nothing," Harry tried to lie, hating how his voice stuttered. He attempted to pull away but her grip was too firm. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

Lily squeezed him gently once more before pulling back, but only far enough to scrutinise his expression. Her narrowed viridian gaze felt like a sharp probe, and Harry found himself unable to meet it.

"Which is exactly what James would say, whenever he'd gone and injured himself playing Quidditch." Though the words could have been interpreted reproachfully, Harry thought her reply was more of an amused comment rather than a scolding. "Now, are you going to tell me what's the matter?"

Harry mumbled something unintelligible, looking down to the floor.

She peered at him speculatively for a few more seconds.

"Ah, I see," Lily whispered, eyes suddenly alight with understanding and sympathy. Harry was wrapped up in a gentle hug again. "It's okay, dear. Let it all out."

And with that, the metaphysical damn broke.

Tears flowed hot and fast as the fifteen-year-old collapsed into his dead-but-now-alive-mother's embrace. A conglomerated rush of incomprehensible emotions paraded through his mind as wracking sobs attacked his body.

Throughout the entire onslaught, Lily remained calm, a physical pillar of stability; whispering platitudes into his ear and occasionally pressing a kiss to his unruly mop of black hair.

Against Harry's expectations, it felt surprisingly cathartic to let out all of his pent-up emotions, which he had kept inside the confines of his psyche for practically his entire life.

His sobs soon reduced to the occasional sniffle; Lily now humming a quiet, soothing tune as she continued to comfort the poor boy.

"All better?" she asked, when the teenager emerged from her shoulder.

Upon receiving a small nod in reply, she stepped back and returned to the kitchen counter. "Splendid. So, what would you like for breakfast?

Harry sat down at the nearby table; eyes focused upon its grainy surface. "Uh, I'm not hungry, thanks."

"Now that simply won't do, Harry," came the light reproach. Harry looked up to see Lily fixing him with a faux cross look, hands fisted on her hips. "Take your pick — I've got scrambled eggs, cereal, baked beans, sausages…"

"C-cereal, please," he requested quietly, sitting down at the island; still feeling somewhat overwhelmed. A bowl of the mentioned item was soon placed before him, just as a black lump of matter explosively propelled itself out of the toaster.

Harry laughed despite himself when Lily sighed, drawing her wand to pry the severely burnt toast down from the ceiling.

Suddenly, voices came from the hallway, and the two occupants of the kitchen glanced in that direction.

Through the door emerged the other residents of the Manor, all in varying degrees of awareness. Eyes were rubbed; yawns were muffled behind hands as the wizards and witches crowded into the kitchen in search of some breakfast.

Hermione came and sat next to Harry, blearily attempting and largely failing to keep her eyes open. Rose plopped herself on his other side and placed her head on the dinner table, assuming a very convincing position of one sleeping.

"Good morning, everyone!" Sirius greeted cheerily. He leaned against the door jamb, an irritatingly chipper smile on his face. "Did you all sleep well?"

"Why do you have to be so _happy_ in the mornings, Sirius?" James grumbled, attempting to wake himself up with a strong cup of coffee. "It's not right for someone to feel like _that_ after getting out of bed."

Lily was still trying to get the bread down from the ceiling. Her efforts had largely been for nought. "Well, James, it has often been said that one is most productive in the early hours of the morning, so it can be good to get up early. Sometimes, though."

James snorted into his drink as he looked at what had kept her occupied. Hermione giggled quietly, Harry reluctantly smiled into his cereal and Rose let out a small snore, clearly no longer pretending to be asleep.

The toaster apparently decided to draw attention to itself again and regurgitated another piece of burnt toast, which promptly attached itself to the ceiling — in the exact spot that Lily had just cleaned.

"I don't think the toaster likes you that much, dear," said James with a smirk, stealing a sausage from his wife's plate on the counter.

Lily glared at him.

Sirius hastily smothered his grin when the redhead directed that stare onto him too.

"Shush, you," was the muttered response as she finally managed to vanish the scorched food. Spinning on the spot, Lily then proceeded with the task of dishing out breakfast for the half-awake wizards and witches, to the chorus of their appreciative and grateful calls.

A glass of orange juice was soon placed near Harry's left hand.

"Thanks, Mum," he said absently, taking a sip. His attention had been captured by Hermione, who was rambling on about a passage she had recently read in one of the Potter Library's many books.

Lily smiled to herself. It seemed that Harry had not noticed what he had just said.

"You're welcome, dear. Now, eat up, your cereal will get soggy!"

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

_**Potter Manor, Lancashire, 24/06/1996…** _

Next to the table, there came a quiet _pop._

"Mistress Lily?"

Turning to the voice, Harry found its owner to be a rather regal looking House-elf.

Though, by appearances, the being was much older than other House-elves he had encountered before — the thought of Dobby briefly flashed through Harry's mind — it still stood tall and proud, hands clasped behind its back. Hooked ears protruded from the sides of the elf's head, complete with almost unnoticeable tufts of white hair extending from its ear canals.

Its maroon-silver-and-gold uniform was impeccable to any inspection and ironed to perfection, wide, alert brown eyes stared from a face that looked like it was made out of weathered, dirty grey leather.

The elf somehow straightened even further when it noticed their combined attention on it; the light reflecting off the Potter Crest upon its right breast.

"Yes, Canby?" Lily said, standing up out of her chair. James and Sirius did not notice the elf's arrival and continued their conversation; Hermione regaling a now-awake Rose about the events she had missed. "What can I do for you?"

Harry put his cereal spoon down, turning to pay attention to the little exchange.

"The Hogwarts Letters have arrived, Mistress," Canby replied. Harry, noting the slightly gravelly timbre of the elf's voice, figured that it was male. He was also somewhat surprised to note that the elf spoke in perfect English. After speaking to both Dobby and Blinky, he had, on some unconscious level, naïvely assumed that all House-elves talked in a similar manner to the mentioned elves.

Evidently, Harry was incorrect.

"They have arrived, have they?" Lily repeated, brow furrowing in puzzlement. She held out one hand towards Canby, her other rubbing her chin absently. "How odd. The letters don't usually arrive this early…"

"Indeed, Mistress," Canby said, raising a wrinkled hand and snapping his fingers.

Three creamy-peach envelopes promptly materialised, placidly hovering in mid-air. With another gesture, they were gently pushed into Lily's waiting grasp.

"Thank you, Canby," she said, fixing her green eyes on his ramrod-straight form. "And how many times have I said that just _Lily_ would be fine?"

Canby shrugged. "Many times, Mistress."

Lily looked at him pointedly but ultimately gave up her endeavour when the old elf failed to amend his statement.

She sighed, turning back to the table. "You've been ever so helpful, Canby. You may go now."

The elf bowed once more and disappeared with another _pop._

"Where are they from, dear?" James asked. He had finished his discussion with Sirius, noticing the items in his wife's grasp as she walked back to her seat. "Who are they for?"

"They are from Hogwarts, apparently," Lily replied, "and it says here that they are for Harry, Rose and Hermione."

Said individuals perked up at the mention of their names, just as the redhead reached the table and handed the letters to the three teenagers.

Harry peered curiously at his letter. On a backdrop of grainy parchment, the Hogwarts crest — a lion, a snake, a badger and a raven, all pictured in various heroic poses and surrounding a cursive letter H — was proudly embossed in a rich red wax. Turning the envelope over, he noticed the address written upon its back.

_Mr H. Potter_

_Third Bedroom on the Right, Second Floor_

_The Potter Residence_

_Wyresdale Retreat, Lancashire_

"Hmm." Rose frowned at her letter, which held a distinct bulge in one corner. Harry, remembering the events of the summer before last year, had an inkling as to what was causing the bump. "They're a bit early, aren't they?"

James nodded, an intrigued gleam in his eye as he neatly dissected a piece of scrambled egg with his knife and fork. After submerging it in baked beans, he popped the still-too-large-to-be-easily-eaten ensemble in its entirety into his mouth.

He somehow missed the look that Lily sent towards him immediately after.

"Go on, open 'em up," Sirius bade with an almost impatient gesture, speaking as he bit into an apple. Lily's nose wrinkled again. "Don't keep us waiting!"

The letters were ripped open with appropriate vigour and two pristine sheets of parchment fell out of each envelope.

Choosing a sheet at random, Harry perused the flowing, handwritten text upon it.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL_

_of_

_WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_HEADMASTER:_

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)_

_Date of Correspondence: 24th_ _July, 1996_

_Dear Mr H. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for Sixth Year Tuition at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_New students to Hogwarts will be required to report directly to the Chamber of Admissions upon arrival. Returning students will be able to proceed directly into the Great Hall for the Sorting Feast. Term shall begin on September 1st, 1996 — we await your elf by no later than July 31st. Upon arrival, students will be duly informed of the changes to the Hogwarts curriculum and teaching staff, as directed by new Ministry legislation._

_Fifth-Year Students and above will be required to declare their subject choices for the upcoming year by no later than August 15th_ _(attached is a list of said subjects)._

 _Please find attached to this correspondence a list of all required items, books and equipment. They can be purchased from any suitable commercial centre — including but not limited to the Via Magica_ , _Immersion Alley, Diagon Alley, and other appropriate suppliers._

_Also attached is a ticket granting one individual admittance to the Hyperion Relay. Ensure that you have this ticket on your person on September 1st; otherwise, access to the Relay will not be granted._

_We look forward to receiving you at Hogwarts, Mr Potter._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor Lorenzo Alvarez_

_Head of Hogwarts Admissions_

Harry finished reading the letter just as Rose was swept up into a tight hug by her mother.

"Congratulations," Hermione beamed, placing her letter beside her plate. James and Sirius both clapped enthusiastically, and even Blinky and Canby had appeared to congratulate the girl.

Rose stared, a shocked look on her face, at the small, metallic item in her grasp. Gleaming in the morning light, a silver P sat on top of a shield-shaped expanse of forest green.

Harry smiled broadly. "Congrats, Rose!"

The Prefect's badge glittered innocently as Rose turned it around, wonderingly looking it over. "Wow…well, I don't know what to say…"

" _I_ will say 'I told you so'," Lily put in with a grin, squeezing her daughter around the shoulders. James nodded, smiling proudly. "Did I not tell you that you would get the position?"

"…yes, you did," the smaller redhead grudgingly accepted. As Lily finally released her, she put the badge down on the table. "Hey, Mum? When d'you think we could go shopping for these?" Rose held up what looked to be the list of required supplies.

"Hmm…maybe later today, I think," was the reply. "Does that work for all of you?"

Lily received many indications of assent. "Excellent. We shall go shopping then."

"Uh, Rose?" Hermione spoke into the brief silence.

Her brows were furrowed and her gaze focused on her Hogwarts Letter. "What's the _Hyperion Relay_? I've never heard of something like that before." Harry and Sirius both nodded; they too were unaware of what the _Relay_ was.

James, Lily and Rose simultaneously glanced at each other.

"Well, it's—"

"Ah, ah, ah! You are not allowed to tell them, young lady," Lily immediately interrupted. Rose pouted.

The curious gleam in Hermione's eye had not abated one bit. If anything, it had grown more prominent. "Why not?"

"The sky is green and the snow is warm," James said in reply, smirking cryptically.

The brunette blinked at the non-sequitur. "I—the sky—what?"

James picked up a glass of orange juice and took a deep sip from it, completely unaffected by the look Hermione sent towards him. Any attempts to get the man to elaborate further failed spectacularly.

"Hmph. Fine, then." Hermione ardently refused to emulate Rose, so she resorted to merely crossing her arms. "Who's this Professor Alvarez? _Head of Hogwarts Admissions…_ And what happened to Professor McGonagall?"

"Minnie's absolutely fine, don't worry," James replied, finishing off his breakfast. A look of confusion appeared on his face as he pushed his plate away. "And why do I get the impression that a _Head of Hogwarts Admissions_ does not exist in your…dimension?"

"That's because it doesn't," Harry piped up. Hermione and Sirius nodded. "What other things are different here?"

"Well," Lily suggested, "why don't we start comparing timelines from just before 1991, and work our way forwards from there?"

"Okay," Hermione agreed for the three interdimensional travellers. She shifted, getting more comfortable in her chair. "Uh, let's see…erm, well, we know what happened in 1981—" She flashed Harry an apologetic glance. "—but after that, many Death Eaters escaped justice with just a slap on the wrist. The Ministry of Magic and the British wizarding world as a whole remained practically as it was before — dismissive towards Muggles and Muggleborns, believing heavily in Pureblood superiority, and so on."

"Interesting," James said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Over here, I would have to say that almost the opposite happened. Death Eaters and sympathizers for Voldemort's regime were punished as deserved, but I suspect some escaped the law. The DMLE has been looking for these individuals for some time. In addition to this, pushes for change in practically everything were rampant, spearheaded by ambitious Muggleborns and a few Halfbloods."

"Did people not try to stop it?" Harry asked.

"I was just getting to that point, lad," James replied. "Where was I? Oh yes. When, expectedly, the traditionalist Pureblood bloc resisted these reforms, someone I can't remember the name of compared the Wizarding world to the Muggle world. They highlighted how behind wizardkind was compared to the Muggles in terms of societal progression, calling it 'so damn backwards that even the mere _concept_ of modernizing as a society was distinctly absent' — their words, not mine."

Everyone laughed. Harry thought the statement perfectly described the wizards and witches back in his old dimension.

"So, you can imagine how the Purebloods reacted to such an observation," James continued with a chuckle. "Whether they did this intentionally or not, the Wizarding world slowly but surely started to imitate its Muggle counterpart, though, of course, with magic in the mix. No corner was unaffected; no stone unturned — even Hogwarts received many thorough audits and inspections. When the various investigations were complete, it was revealed that, quite frankly, the 'best institute of magical education in the world' was, if one compared it against Muggle schools, barely better than a bottom-rung comprehensive institution."

"I suspect _that_ must have ruffled quite a few feathers," Sirius drawled amusedly.

"Indeed, it did," Lily said, taking over from her husband. "Though it took a long time — and, to some extent, is still happening as we speak — Hogwarts was _encouraged_ to employ more teachers, to expand the width and breadth of their curriculum, and to submit to regular inspections performed by independent bodies in order to make sure that it was up to standard. This year's first year class has actually been the largest in the past twenty, in fact, due to an increase in how many wizards and witches Hogwarts admitted. Given the castle's nature, space was not an issue."

"What happened in your first year?" Rose asked suddenly, looking at Harry and Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing too interesting, I think. I met Ron, Hermione and Neville, received an invisibility cloak from Dumbledore and looked into the Mirror of Erised for a short while. We also helped Hagrid out in the Forbidden Forest, and stopped Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher's Stone, which w—

"Wait—hold on one second," Lily cut in, her right hand raised. "Did you just say that you stopped _Voldemort_ from stealing the _Philosopher's Stone?"_

She, James, Rose and even Sirius — who, Harry realised suddenly, had not heard this story before — were all staring at the black-haired boy incredulously.

"Yes, we had to, otherwise he would have stolen the Stone and come back to life," Harry explained, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Hermione bit her lip. "So, as I was saying—"

"No, no," Lily interrupted again, half standing up; heat in her voice. "Answer me this. Why would two _eleven-year-olds_ be allowed to help a Professor in the _Forbidden Forest —_ a place that is called _Forbidden_ for quite a good reason — never mind having to stop a known _Dark Lord_ from stealing a highly precious artefact, something that shouldn't even be kept in a _school_ —"

The others, except from Hermione, who was still biting her lip, nodded decisively in agreement.

James, a thunderous yet controlled expression on his face, placed a hand on Lily's arm, calming her down. Marginally. "Let him continue, dear. What happened in your second year?"

Harry swallowed convulsively but nevertheless continued to speak. Hermione surreptitiously squeezed his hand under the table. "Well, um, I discovered that I could speak Parseltongue, my best mate's sister got controlled by a diary and Slytherin's basilisk Petrified a few stud—"

" _WHAT?!"_

* * *

**~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews! I really enjoy reading them and gaining your input/advice for this story. Apologies for a slightly shorter chapter than usual; real life had a few demands that I had to attend to.
> 
> Right. I'll see you all in the next update.
> 
> Avaxius

**Author's Note:**

> 21/08/2020:  
> The H.M.S Harmony discord link is discord(dot)gg / hhriscanon — remove the ‘(dot)’ and any spaces. The link should work after that.
> 
> Righto! There’s the first chapter done; many more will follow. Stay tuned! :)
> 
> Cheers, 
> 
> Avaxius


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